Travelling 200 years back in time,
The clock is ticking and time is running,
But my heart stopped beating when I saw him for the first time.
"Who is he?"
"King Taehyung of Mahiron."
𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒎�...
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I run my fingers over the golden edges of the frames hanging around the historical paintings of my grandfather. Each painting reminiscing the essence of our history, forgotten in time, but not in his memory.
One in particular has always captured my attention since I was a child. It was the yard of a castle, filled with an eternity of red roses. My fingertips stopped at the date written next to the painting, grandfather had finished this painting on the day of my birth. It was a present to me and my family but we decided to keep it in his art room. The room filled with hundreds of paintings, hanging on the walls and telling stories I've always wished to be a part of.
I was suddenly pulled out of my thoughts, when the window suddenly crashed open and revealed tonight's thunderstorm to me. The loud sound made me shriek on my spot. I pushed the blowing curtains aside and shut the window with all my strength against the storm to prevent anymore rain pouring in.
"Are you fine, my child?" My grandmother had walked in, as I struggled to walk out of the dancing curtains. I puffed out a breath as soon as I found my escape and met my grandmother, who just turned the lights on and was standing in front of me in just her pajamas. I smiled at her "All fine" I looked back at the window
"Sorry the sound woke you up" she shook her head while yawning.
"Stop staring at these old paintings and get some sleep, it's late" She scolded me as always and my grin widened.
"Still here?" The owner of the art room appeared on the doorway, with glasses sitting on his nose and a book in his arms. A grin spread on his lips as he walked over to his favorite armchair and I placed myself next to him on the ground.
"I'm going to bed, I need my beauty sleep. Don't stay up too late you two!" My grandmother walked out while shaking her head "Good night!" I called after her as she waved at us and I turned my head towards my grandfather, who was sitting next to the fireplace and calmly reading his book.
My eyes traveled back to the paintings while pulling my knees close to me and wrapping my arms around my legs, and listening to the sizzling fire of the fireplace melting with the thunderstorm outside of the windows.
"Grandpa?" I lifted my head to look at him, but his eyes were steady on his book. He wasn't a man of many words but when he spoke you listened to every single word, because each sentence carried the weight of years of wisdom.
"Yes?"
"Why did you stop painting?"
He lifted his eyes from his book and met my curiosity with a calm smile. "Because I'm too old now and my hands are shaking whenever I pick up a brush. I don't have the strength of my early days anymore and the stories are slowly running out of my head."
"You said these stories have been passed down through generations, how come there isn't a single historical book about this era, grandpa?" I sat up and tilted my head, curiously waiting for his answer.
"I've told you before, this era has been established as cursed. There aren't many books that recall any historical event of the sovereignty in hat era. Most of the books have been caught in the fire years ago, you remember?" He asked as he put his glasses down and caressed my head.
"Don't reminisce in the past my dear, I've done that enough. These paintings will get passed down in your generation, that's all I need." He smiled and slowly stood up.
"I don't see it as cursed. It must have been beautiful." I said and he stopped moving.
"Nothing about the past is beautiful."
"But your paintings are." I smiled and his eyes softened.
