BELLADONNA | Wooyoung

CHAPTER : 19

Tonight, the long-awaited commencement of my vigil to uncover the enigma behind the nocturnal bestowal of blueberry muffins arrives. Despite procrastinating for an entire week, tonight marks the decisive moment to ascertain the identity of the mysterious benefactor. While I appreciate the gesture, there's an undeniable shroud of apprehension veiling my anticipation. The logistics alone are enough to send shivers down my spine; the bedside table stands defiantly distant from the window, necessitating an intruder's presence within the sanctum of my room. With each realization, a surge of trepidation courses through me, eliciting a chorus of goosebumps that dance upon my skin at the mere notion of an unwelcome guest infiltrating my private space.

I've been treating this matter lightly, but upon closer examination, the situation is potentially perilous. Think about it: someone infiltrates my room every single night, leaving desserts and the same note without fail. It may seem like a benign gesture, but the implications are unsettling. What is this person doing in my room while I sleep? How long do they linger? Have they rifled through my belongings, my personal notes? The possibilities are alarming—it could be someone I know or a complete stranger. The thought of being vulnerable while asleep, unaware of a potential threat, sends a chill down my spine. Who knows what lurks in the mind of this mysterious intruder? What motive drives them to send these offerings? These are questions that demand answers, for the consequences of ignorance could be dire.

As I pondered over dinner tonight, the weight of the situation pressed heavier on my mind. What if I were to unexpectedly encounter this elusive intruder? What actions would I take? What words would I utter? The uncertainty looms ominously, compounded by the enigma of the intruder's identity—boy, man, girl, woman—utterly unknown to me. Who could they be? The lack of answers fuels my anxiety.

In a bid to outsmart the mysterious intruder, I've concocted a makeshift strategy. Tonight, I've carefully arranged myself on the left side of the bed, strategically concealed amidst a labyrinth of cushions and blankets. The soft fabrics cocoon me, blending seamlessly with the bed's contours. It's a precarious gambit—a desperate attempt to deceive the unseen visitor. From my hidden vantage point on the floor, I endeavor to create the illusion that I'm peacefully slumbering upon the bed, oblivious to their nocturnal activities. Every breath is hushed, every movement calculated, as I lie in wait, poised for any unexpected confrontation.

For the past three hours, I've been sprawled out on the floor, waiting with bated breath for the intruder's arrival. The clock taunts me—it's now 3 a.m., and still, there are no signs of anyone entering my room. The minutes drag on, stretching into an agonizing eternity. The discomfort of maintaining one position on the hard floor gnaws at my back, and fatigue threatens to overwhelm me. With each passing moment, I teeter on the brink of surrendering to exhaustion and abandoning this futile game of hide and seek.

Just as I was on the verge of giving up, a faint sound pierced the silence—the creak of the ladder in my garden, a familiar escape route I've used before. My breath catches in my throat, and I instinctively clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle any potential screams. My body tenses, every nerve on high alert as adrenaline courses through my veins. My heart pounds furiously in my chest, threatening to burst free from its confines. With senses heightened, I shift into a state of hyperawareness, ready for whatever may come.

Earlier, under the cover of darkness when the house slumbered, I crept downstairs, the floorboards groaning softly beneath my cautious steps. From the kitchen, I retrieved the sharpest knife, its glinting blade now clutched tightly in my trembling hand. It's a crude defense, but in this moment of uncertainty, it's all I have to protect myself.

In the tense silence of the moment, amidst the looming threat, my thoughts inexplicably drift to one person—Wooyoung. It's strange, perhaps even irrational, to fixate on him now of all times. Yet, I can't shake the notion of his presence, his absence in this pivotal moment. I can't help but wonder how he would react if something were to happen to me. Would he be here to offer his support, his protection?