Bitter Blood || a Park Woojin fan-fiction [UNDER CONSTRUCTION]

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    ❝ little one, unleash your
fears. for you can fight many 
men, with fate such as that. ❞    

-Chapter 44, The Sweetest Contempt, by yeonnieong

ONG RAEYEON

It was like being in an ancient parade, adults were wearing lavish eye masks, and woman with puffy, vintage dresses, men with clean suits in different colors. Lord knows how a 21st century lass ended up here, but Raeyeon's whole body felt numb, yet she was standing straight rather fine. The only thing she could notice within herself,

was that she was wearing a red dress.

And her perfume scent lingered to even her own senses; a strong scent of a rose. 

The last thing Raeyeon remembered, was that she was drowsy back at the train, waiting for Woojin to come back and for the train to get repaired. But this was a setting way different that of what she had deciphered.

This looked ancient.

Raeyeon was holding a brown, damp book. Its cover quite torn and its folds were defined in ugly lines. She scrunched my eyebrows, utterly confused. Hesitant, she raised my arm and scanned the cover of the book. 

Right then, she could hear her heart knocking its cage. 

Property of B.N. Rose.

"R-Rose?" Raeyeon muttered unconsciously. "What on earth..."

She started to panic, anxious if it was true Rose had devoured her soul completely, and that Raeyeon was no longer in her own body, that Rose had taken over and owned complete control of what she could do. She fiddled with the hem of the book. 

Raeyeon knew no one around her. 

But they were scary. Their masks, their laughs, their gaze. It scares me. 

She felt alienated. 

I suddenly regret making Woojin get me food-

"Ms. Naatsoe?" a manly voice spoke. 

She was too caught up with my thoughts to realize him looking directly at me. 

"Ms. Naatsoe, are you alright?" he said.

She blinked at him. "H-Huh? Naatsoe?"

"Yes." at her puzzled expression, he tilted his head. "your name, madame. Baesin Naatsoe Rose."

Oh. Rose.

"You seem troubled. Is there anything I could help you with, madame?" he asked. 

Gulping, she embarrassingly stammered, "U-Um. Yeah. Where...am I? What's the date today?" 

The man in his red tuxedo seemed to have looked at me dumb-founded behind his mask, but he remained his polite, professional smile. "You are at the celebration of your own accomplishment, madame. Today's date is the 13th of November, 1349."