The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the bedroom. Freya stirs awake, the warmth of Soyoung’s body next to her a comforting reminder from last night. She lies still for a moment, savoring the serene beauty of the morning and the rhythmic sound of Soyoung’s breathing.
Gently, Freya brushes aside a strand of Soyoung's hair from her face, her fingers lingering a moment longer to caress Soyoung’s soft skin. She is careful not to wake Soyoung, who remains peacefully asleep, her form elegantly draped in the tangled sheets. Freya’s heart swells with tenderness as she gazes at her, marveling at the quiet intimacy they share.
A mix of emotions floods Freya’s mind as she remembers the night before. They haven't had sex in a while, but the memory of Soyoung’s passionate kisses and the way she confidently undressed her lingers vividly. It stirs a sense of exhilaration within her, mingled with a tender worry. Freya wonders if Soyoung feels the same desire and hopes for the moments they will continue to create together.
Freya leans in, placing a gentle kiss on Soyoung’s forehead before carefully slipping out of bed.
She grabs her dressing gown from behind the door and wraps it around her body, then quietly exits their bedroom to go downstairs and make a cup of coffee in the kitchen.
While waiting for the water to boil, Freya’s mind starts buzzing with thoughts of her upcoming exhibition. She is preparing to showcase her works alongside Yua’s unseen paintings, sketches, notes, and home-made videos of their time together. It’s a bold idea she has tried to avoid her whole life. Everyone knows about Yua’s tragic death—Freya’s mother stabbed herself in the chest, and twelve-year-old Freya discovered the body the next morning. The incident fueled rumors about Yua selling her soul to the devil for her skills. Despite this, people remain fascinated by Yua’s life and what it must have been like to be her daughter, Freya Adler.
Freya shakes her head, unable to comprehend the overwhelming response to the event. The media and journalists proclaim it to be the most significant moment in art history, the most anticipated exhibition of their generation. To Freya, these claims seem exaggerated. She knows what they truly want: to ask, “Do you think your mother really sold her soul to the devil?”
When faced with that inevitable question, Freya often pauses, a mix of emotions crossing her face. Her response is always measured, tinged with the sadness of her past. Back then, she had every reason to reply that it was not the event to ask such a question as she looked the interviewer in the eye. But in her upcoming exhibition, clearly there are no excuses left to use.
She knows so little about her mother, having spent most of her life in anger, hate, and spite towards her. Only in recent years has she begun to pay attention, trying to piece together the fragments of Yua’s life. After her wife passed away, she returned to London to start anew. It was then she began to confront her past, shedding the layers of anger that had defined her for so long.
Freya realizes she needs to dedicate her time to uncover the truth about her mother’s death. Perhaps, when she finally understands why her mother chose to leave her, and whether there really was a curse, everything will fall into place. Only then will she know what to do with her feelings for Soyoung.
Besides, her mother’s last painting, Simulated World of Alpha Nine, is still missing. The thought of it being traded in the black market feels like a wound, a quiet, persistent ache.
***
Freya pours the boiling water over the coffee grounds with a precise, almost ritualistic care. The steam curls upwards, mingling with the morning light that filters softly through the kitchen window. The room fills with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
She feels a pair of warm arms encircle her waist from behind, a quiet, familiar presence. Soyoung, still sleepy-eyed, hugs her tightly, resting her head against Freya's back.
Freya smiles, a tender, almost invisible curve of her lips. “Coffee?” she asks.
Soyoung nods, then buries her sleepy face in the crook of Freya’s neck. She breathes in deeply, her senses intoxicated by the mingling scents of skin and warmth, drawing strength and comfort from the simple, intimate closeness.
***
Soyoung waits for Freya in the living room, her fingers lightly grazing the smooth fabric of her dressing gown as she takes out her phone. Ignoring the barrage of messages from Manager Lee, she navigates straight to her recording files. Her thumb hovers, then selects the new song she wants Freya to hear.
A faint melody soon fills the room through the Bluetooth speaker as Freya enters, carrying a tray with coffee, toast, and eggs for breakfast. Together, they place the items on the coffee table in the center of the room. Settling onto the sofa, their feet touch gently, a quiet connection as they enjoy breakfast and warm coffee while listening to the song Soyoung recorded yesterday.
Soyoung always looks forward to the quiet, slow mornings she spends with Freya every weekend. But something feels off with Freya today. Freya seems lost in her thoughts, distant and preoccupied. ‘Was the sex bad last night?’ Soyoung wonders, concerned.
“You seem quiet this morning. Has something happened?” Soyoung finally asks, breaking the silence and snapping Freya out of her daydream.
Freya takes a small sip of her coffee, then sets the cup down before finally responding. “It’s just that… I’ve been wondering…” She stutters, hesitantly glancing at Soyoung, who is drinking her coffee. “Do you think my mother really sold her soul to the devil?”
The question catches Soyoung by surprise, making her almost choke on her drink. She coughs, quickly setting her cup back on the table and clearing her throat. “Why? Are you really going to ask me that?”
Innocently, Freya nods.
Soyoung takes a moment to look deeply into the eyes of the person she loves. Freya looks like a lost puppy, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, waiting for an answer.
“Do you think the rumor about her is true?” Freya asks once more, her voice soft but insistent.
With no hesitation, Soyoung shakes her head. “I don’t believe that rumor, never did.”
Freya had shared the story with her long ago: how, at just twelve years old, she was the one who discovered her mother’s body that fateful morning. Freya said she still remembers everything vividly—the shock, the fear, the anger—all of it lingering in her chest, haunting her for years. Those memories became recurring nightmares, preventing her from returning to this house. Yet, here they are. The room where she found her mother’s body is only a few doors away.
“People also say that I’m using drugs, do you believe them?” Soyoung asks Freya back. “People will say anything to discredit others' achievements. Humans can be cruel sometimes,” she continues.
Freya smiles slightly, knowing Soyoung has a point. But doubts linger. What if there is more to her mother’s life that she has been too afraid to uncover? What if her mother didn’t kill herself? What if she’s been wrong all this time?
Freya quickly shakes the intrusive thoughts from her mind. She changes the subject, turning to Soyoung and asking her to replay the new song. “Can you play it again? I want to listen closely,” she says, redirecting the conversation to safer, more comforting ground.
But Soyoung refuses. “No,” she grabs Freya’s hand and stands up. “Follow me!”
“Where?” Freya blinks a few times, looking up at Soyoung with confusion.
“If you’re in doubt, let’s call her ghost and ask her your question,” Soyoung explains, still standing and waiting for Freya to do the same.
Freya finally stands in front of Soyoung.
“Close your eyes,” Soyoung instructs.
Freya closes her eyes as Soyoung holds both her hands tightly.
“Now, listen to my voice and follow my commands. Understand?”
Freya smiles, thinking Soyoung is being really silly, but she nods. This is the kind of exercise theater actresses do before getting on stage to get into their characters.
“Take a deep breath in…” Soyoung begins, breathing in herself.
Hesitant at first, Freya eventually follows her command.
“…and out,” Soyoung’s voice is slow and soft.
“…in…” they breathe in.
“…and out…” they breathe out.
“Now, try to remember an adventure you once had with your mom,” Soyoung’s voice echoes in Freya’s head. “Remember when you sat outside this house, on that one summer day, bathed in the sun… that memory you once told me about.”
Freya squints in concentration, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on her skin.
“Remember what you had in your hands that day? How did it feel? Smooth? Tender? What was it?”
An image of her playing with a bucket of water starts to emerge behind Freya’s closed eyes. Slowly but surely, Soyoung’s voice fades, and the image becomes vivid. The touch on her skin feels real. Her hands were small, and the bucket was full of fresh water she wished to bathe in. The water was so refreshing, the smell of grass and mud on her skin, fresh flowers in her mother’s garden.
She looks up as she takes a deep breath in. The weather was good that day. The sky was clear, and she felt so happy because her mother let her play all day in the front yard.
“Frey, omizu de asonde iru to byouki ni naru kara, mou juubun dayo?” Frey, I think that’s enough; you’ll get sick if you play with that much water.
A familiar voice makes Freya turn her head. Her mom is there with her, standing behind her with a towel in her hand. Her long dark hair, her white gown. Her feet are dirty with mud.
“Kassan—” Mom. “Mou gofun dake.” Just five more minutes.
Little Freya looks down, playing with her bucket of water. Splashing it on her face with both her hands, she laughs happily.
“Umi da yo, okaasan, mite!” It’s an ocean, Mom, look!
Yua crouches beside Little Freya, chuckling at how happy her daughter is. It’s just a bucket of water, but Freya sees it as an ocean. She has taught her daughter to see great things in the ordinary. She pats her daughter’s head lovingly and says, “Obore nai you ni ki wo tsukete ne.” Careful not to drown then.
Little Freya mischievously splashes water on her mom, making small wet patches on her gown. “Kassan, issho ni kite. Oborenai you ni.” Mom, come with me, so I don’t drown.
Gladly, Yua plays along with her daughter. She even takes a long water hose and makes the water pour over them.
Five minutes pass, yet both of them continue to enjoy playing in the front yard. Their hair is wet, and their clothes are completely soaked. They run and chase each other, laughter and smiles painting their faces.
Eventually, the pirate adventure needs to end. Yua takes another clean towel from inside the house. She comes back outside to see her daughter standing on their front porch.
Little Freya is looking at a beautiful blonde woman who just passed by. She seems so fixated on the beauty, her little eyes fixed on her like a magnet.
Yua kneels beside her daughter then wraps her little body with a towel and asks, “do you know her?”
Little Freya finds it hard to turn her head to see her mother, but she does it anyway. “No,” she answers. “She’s just so beautiful. Very beautiful. Why is she so beautiful?”
“Ah, you like beautiful people?” Yua asks back with a smile that seems to never wear off every time she discovers something new about her daughter. “Maybe she’s a vampire. Vampires look so beautiful, and they never get old.”
“Are you a vampire too?” Little Freya asks with her doe eyes sparkling. The admiring look in Little Freya’s eyes as she watches her makes the day feel far too short for Yua.
“Do you think I’m beautiful?” Yua teases Little Freya.
Beautiful, Freya murmurs. Her hand lifts up to touch her mother’s cheek softly.
“Being your mother makes me so,” Yua finally answers, her voice echoing in Freya’s head.
Then why did you leave me? Freya squints her eyes in confusion.
Her mind starts to buzz with thoughts, questions she needs her mother to answer, distracting her focus.
Why, mom? Feelings start to swell in her chest—pain, longing, confusion. The memory starts to distort. Tears begin to well up in her eyes.
What happened to us? Colors start to fade. A memory once so vivid gradually turns gray and blurry.
Eventually, Freya opens her eyes and sees Soyoung standing in front of her, looking at her closely. Freya’s cheek is wet with tears. Soyoung brushes them off with her thumb and lets their eyes lock.
“Promise me you won’t run away,” Soyoung whispers, her voice tender and soft. “You need to ask her yourself.”
Freya takes Soyoung’s hand off her face, kisses the back of it, and nods. A moment later, she clears her throat and says, “I’m hungry, let’s go grab some food.”
***
A woman stands before a vibrant painting, a half-full plastic glass of bubble tea in one hand, and earphones delivering orchestral melodies into her ears. Soyoung’s carefully crafted lyrics about a door to a different world, with an optimistic tone embedded in the song, perfectly complement the scenery before her.
“Your stories woven into the fabric of my fate, oh how could I hold myself against you,” Freya hears Soyoung’s voice sing, the lyrics delivered with orchestral grandeur.
It’s been a long time since Freya has taken the time to closely examine her mother’s painting. Yua is known for her unique artistic expression. Her mother didn’t use plain canvases; instead, she painted on colorful fabrics and intricate patterns. She didn’t just use one kind of paint but almost everything—oil, dye, wax, and sometimes even threads.
At the time, the method was not very common. It was innovative and refreshing. Freya has to admit that her mother was extraordinarily talented in crafting magical landscapes out of mundane patterns and blending the old with the new. Perhaps the claim that Yua could “carve a new world on her canvas” was not too far-fetched after all.
“You know we’re not allowed to bring any food or drinks in here, right?”
Realizing that Soyoung has returned from the gift store and is now standing beside her, Freya takes out one of her earphones and looks at her.
“Sorry, what?”
“We’re not allowed to bring any food or drinks,” Soyoung repeats.
Freya chuckles and teasingly replies, “Except me, I’m Freya Adler.” Then she takes a sip of her drink.
Soyoung playfully throws a weak punch on Freya’s arm in protest, and they both laugh at the joke.
As the laughter fades, Soyoung looks at Yua's painting and says softly, “I always wish I could have met your mother.”
Freya doesn’t say anything, instead, she looks at Soyoung standing next to her, feeling certain that the two of them would have gotten along very well.
“Have you got the gifts for your manager and staff?” Freya asks, changing the subject. She looks down and sees a paper bag in Soyoung’s hand.
“Yeah,” Soyoung replies. “Have you listened to the song?” She asks.
“It’s beautiful. I love it,” Freya answers. “I can imagine the crowd will scream, like…” Freya mimics a fangirl’s ecstatic expression, silently opening her mouth wide and raising her hands as if she were one of the Beatles’ fans seeing their idols.
Soyoung’s cheeks flush a deep red as she tries hard to stifle her laughter, but it bursts out of her anyway. She covers her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound. Playfully she slaps Freya’s arm, annoyed by the silly face Freya just made. Then she clings onto Freya, still giggling uncontrollably.
Without them noticing, a visitor in the distance subtly raised their phone, fingers deftly snapping a few photos and recording a short video. Freya and Soyoung’s laughter echoed softly, their closeness evident in every shared glance and playful touch. The visitor’s eyes widened in disbelief at their luck, and with a few taps, the content was swiftly uploaded to a social media platform, the screen lighting up with notifications as tags to popular gossip accounts were added.
As likes and replies began to pour in, Soyoung remained oblivious.
She leaned into Freya, her laughter mingling with the soft hum of the room, her heart light and her guard down. For now, she was lost in the moment, wrapped in the warmth and joy of being with the person she loved most.
---- END OF CH. 2 ----
Post a Comment