Portrait of a Swallow

Verdigris

Present

Seri had found herself in the front of an office of an attorney by the name of Gu Seung Joon. To say the least, she was nervous, nervous of the consequences she may face, nervous of how small she was in society, but she knew what needed to be done in order to keep him safe.

She fiddled with her hands, before examining them against the morning sunlight, stretching out her fingers such that she noticed the empty spaces between them. She missed the way his fingers had interlaced with hers, how their digits wrapped around each other perfectly, how every nook and cranny of their bodies could intertwine with one another such that, at times, she couldn't tell where her limbs ended and his began.

Taking a deep breath, Seri knocks on the door lightly, before she was met by a tall and lanky man whose laughter boomed through her ears. He was dressed in a powder blue overcoat, a white turtleneck peeking through and crawling up his neck, the ruffles adding elegance to his form.

"You must be Yoon Seri," the man guessed, "I'm Gu Seung Joon, Do Hye Ji told me a little bit about you and your case. Come inside please." He ushered her, urging her to sit on a leather chair in his office.

After she had slipped in the rain a month back, she had awoken in an unfamiliar place, a crisp but humble room streaming with bright light. Hye Ji had introduced herself, though Seri didn't register much, the pure shock and lamentation of leaving Jeong Hyeok still coursing through her veins months after she had departed. Seri couldn't utter a word, her gazed fixed upon the raised floral wallpaper in the common area. She spent the day such, transfixed upon the patterns on the wall, and she couldn't help but wonder what colors she would use to paint the peonies that laced the wallpaper, the delicate tones of pink, red, and orange radiating through the wall and casting shadows upon the carpet.

Seri sat in utmost stillness then, as if trained at this point to be the subject of a portrait, and Hye Ji would break her solitude by bringing her warm tea and jjigae.

"Where did you come from?" Hye Ji would ask, curiosity mixed with concern marring her features. But Seri wouldn't answer much, opting to curl her fingers around the mug of hot tea instead, relishing the way the heat transferred from the cup to the tips of her fingers. Seri let the warmth radiate through her body, hoping it would be able to ignite a mere flicker of a flame through her otherwise battered and lifeless soul.

It wasn't until Hye Ji had noticed the satchel from the Ri home that she inquired if she was a maid there, Seri's gaze stuttering suddenly, interrupting the persistent stare she had upon the wall. The mere mention of his name caused her breath to hitch, hearing the love of her life's name roll off of someone else's tongue causing her heart beating at a rapid pace. It was then that she turned to Hye Ji and asked if she knew of painter Ri, to which Hye Ji uncovered the horrid details of her encounter with Cho Choel Gang and Sang ah.

Now standing in front of Gu Seung Joon, she had enough ammunition, she believed, to bring herself and Hye Ji, as well as other maids that had been subjected to the assault and wrath of Cho Choel Gang, to justice.

"Tell me Seri-ssi, what can I do for you?" Seung Joon asks, searching Seri's eyes for the full story.

Seri is hesitant to share her story, the fear of Cho Choel Gang's ominous figure flitting through her mind, the stench of his skin still seared into her senses as she recalls the last words he growled in her ear. But then she thought of Jeong Hyeok, her bashful painter, the tenderness that would radiate through his eyes, honey pouring from his pupils. She recalls the way he would curl around her, the way his calloused fingers weathered from the paint would touch her with the gentlest strokes, the way he would whisper her name upon his lips in the most reverent manner. Mostly, she misses the way he chose to be the lighthouse in her darkened life, the sturdy reminder of everlasting hope, his light beaming through the blackness of the night not because he had to, but because he wanted to.