Osiria Rose [✓] - MAJOR EDITING

6 - Metamorphosis

Dinner was served and the night smoothly passed. I took my evening shower with Mother's help, which also went by well.

Safe to say, my headaches hadn't occurred that much today compared to other days. Even Mother was jubilant at the fact that I wasn't severely suffering like the previous days. It brought her immense joy and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

'Mama, don't cry. You're going to jinx it,'

'Don't say it then, Kyungsoo!'

'I didn't say anything,"

Their short banters brought warmth to the dining table. And it also eased the bile in my stomach. My stomach is calm right now. There wasn't anything serious that would twist my guts and neither did I feel the need to panic and double over.

Father must've been exhausted for today, as he didn't come over to continue our discussion. I don't mind not talking about it.

Yet something else bothers me.

Even as I'm left alone in my own room, surrounded by the dark with the chiaroscuro of hushed trees, my mind continuously wonders about the sentient being. And of the appearance of the red and white roses.

The angel of death strikes me as an odd opportunity, given the timing of the situation.

"Angel of death ... are you real?" I sigh.

I turn around to face the door, observing the shadows of the elongated branches dance about.

Was my mind that strong to imagine a being so real? Or did I somehow get a force blunt trauma in the head without realizing it?

Knock, knock

My attention averts from the plain ceiling to the familiar dark figure leaning on the same position as the last time I saw him. My heart drops once more, as it races erratically. I couldn't hold in the gasp and propped my body up against the bed.

The curtains did their very best to conceal his face.

A single pound knocked deeply into my head.

"Angel ... of death. You're here ... again," I mumble.

I grip for the ends of my bedsheets, aware of how sweaty my palms are.

"You called," he answered.

He remains seated by the windowsill, unmoving from his position. It strikes me as odd. Perhaps he really is a figure made up in my mind, only to show up during the night. I swallow the dry lump in my throat, unsure where to begin.

"So, have you made up your mind?" he starts.

I tug the blanket closer up until my waist. The strong bridge of his nose and plump lips are clear amidst the nocturnal night. He is as real as I imagine him to be, but from where did I see this person?

"What are you ... really? And, do you have ... a name?" I inquire.

"Names aren't really my thing," he replies.

"Huh?"

"I'm just kidding. You can call me SeokJin," he chuckles.

I repeat the name in my head. It has a nice ring to it.

"Huh, the angel of death has ... a common human name,"

"You are mistaken. I am no mere angel of death, although I may narrowly resemble one,"

What other beings resemble closely to the angel of death?

"Are you the one ... who left those roses?"