sink or swim

Niamh Murphy. 27. Selkie. 🌊 Penned by Thea.

[selkieniamh]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 🌊 — ｍｕｓｅｓ

niamh murphy - blog, about, timeline, powers teddy liu - blog, about, timeline, powers maja lim — blog, about, timeline, powers junji okada — blog, about, timeline, powers anise kim — blog, about, timeline, powers danika vasile - blog, about, timeline, powers

[choxyun]

(╯°□°)╯

It was like looking in a mirror, for some strange reason. She was sad like him, and tired like him, but everything about her felt... more. Bone-deep, like all the bad was living inside her and wanted to get out. Lost and helpless, and yes, just as he had predicted: like a ghost. One of the ghosts that stood over a cliff side in a billowing white dress, cursed with something unfathomable in a horror movie. He did not know what to do with ghosts.

"That sucks. All of it." He tried anyways. "You've come a long way for something you lost." Was it a mere statement, or an observation? Doyun didn't know, but it felt like the truth. She had always seemed so far away, when he had seen her. Even if they were sitting next to each other on a dingy sidewalk with cracks in the pavement, they were worlds apart. "I'm sorry." And the apology came out quietly, unsure if it was even the right thing to say. "It must be hard, being so far away... uh..." he shook his head. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

The silence was short, and where he had anticipated an answer, all he had gotten was a curse, a startling one at that. He knew enough English to get by, but the suddenness of it all had him reeling back, eyes wide as if he had been shocked. "Oh, shit." Doyun finally said, upon her statement. Maybe he should have said something. Only he could be so blind as to not mention such simple things, like 'hey, this is tuna' or 'I am actually being possessed by a demon so I don't think sitting so close to me will do you any good, unless you're willing to fight it'. He should say something.

Selfishly, he wanted company. So he stayed silent. Or well, about the latter he did. The former, well... "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I should have mentioned it, but I thought it was okay. I'm sorry. I can buy you something else, just—" he stood up immediately, like a spring popping back.

"Let me buy you something else. Um... I think they had the strawberry toast stocked up."

[selkieniamh]

"No, no, no," she utters rapidly. "It is okay. Please. Sit down." She grabs his hand. Her hazy mind keeps her holding onto it longer than acceptable, and something inside her cries out. This is the first time she's held someone's hand since moving to Seoul. There is no genuine intimacy or love behind it, but it still has an unexpected effect on her.

Finally, she lets go, somewhat reluctantly. "Sorry," she says softly. "It is okay. I am not hungry." This is a lie, but she has been starving for so long that her body has given up on telling her to eat something. What's the point? It seems to ask. These days, she's just numb, but it's better than the alternative. In this state of numbness, she can convince herself that she is not hungry, not lonely, not unhappy. 

"I want to talk," she tells him, and it's not what she means to say, but it's the only way she can phrase it within the confines of her limited Korean. "It is nice to talk to you." She punctuates this with a smile, and while it's tired and strained, there is the ghost of the old Niamh within it.

"Do you ever feel…" She's going out on a limb now, starting a sentence she's unsure she can finish. "That you are in a hole that you can not get out of? That is how I feel." Idly, she touches her lips as if she is surprised by the truth that came out of them. They are dry and chapped.

"I want to be better," she says, "but it is hard. It is... it feels... impossible. But I want to be better. I do not want to give up." Pausing, she gathers her thoughts. "It is hard. So hard. I am so tired. But I can not stop. I think.... this is the most important war I will fight in my life. Do you understand?" This is not exactly what she means to say. She tries again: "Does this make sense?"

[lesbian-i-ching]

Visit Original Link

At last, when all of the world is asleep You take in the blackness of air The likes of a darkness so deep That God at the start couldn’t bear

And sit unseen, with only the inner upheld Your reflection can't offer a word To the bliss of not knowin' yourself With all mirrorin' gone from the world

Still the mind, rejectin' this new empty space Fills it with somethin' or someone No closer could I be to God Or why he would do what he's done

Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíche Trína chéile; Le chéile, claochlaithe Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíche Is claochlú an ealaín Is ealaín dubh í Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíchе Trína chéile; Le chéile, claochlaithе Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíche Is claochlú an ealaín Is ealaín dubh í

[Actual translation of the irish verse thanks to this anon

you're all bright ease but you come on like night topsy-turvy; together, transformed you're all bright ease but you come on like night art is metamorphosis it(f) is a dark art you're all bright ease but you come on like night topsy-turvy; together, transformed you're all bright ease but you come on like night art is metamorphosis it(f) is a dark art]

[Old Translation of the irish verse

Although your bright and light […] You arrived to me like nightfall, you come like nightfall You and I sort of mixed together You and I metamorphosized So that same idea of you can’t see where one begins and where one ends that, that is some kind of metamorphosis of some kind]

[selkieniamh]

@choxyun

[selkieniamh]

choxyun​:

(╯°□°)╯

There was no time to react, watching her hit her head and feel the sharp zing of pain shoot up his elbow. He didn’t even register that she had somehow perfectly aimed at his humerus.

He was still fumbling for an answer to her question, even as she had already started walking away.

While Doyun had cocked his head and stared on in confusion, he didn’t end up saying anything, instead following after the woman without much thought. He was going the same direction anyways. It would be weird if he hung back just to immediately pay and go anyways.

And he was silent still, even walking behind and then sitting next to the woman, he only lifted his head when she questioned him. “Doyun.” He finally managed, and then his brows furrowed as he tried to figure out the syllables of her name. It sounded easy enough when she said it, but the moment he opened his mouth, it sounded strained, like his mouth was incapable of uttering that particular sequence of words. “Ni-” he shook his head, trying again. “Niamh.” He finally managed, faced pained as he winced in apology. It must have been equally as painful for her to watch him fuck up her name as it was to be the one fucking up. “I… am trying my best.”

The moment he finally got her name right, he averted his eyes, again immediately startled by just how deep into him she was trying to stare. Could she see his bones? Was his face bloated? Was she trying to politely ignore the blood that was drying on his person? He swore that his clothes had been… suspiciously spotless earlier. God, it was like staring at a ghost, staring back at him. Especially in the half-dark, with the faint lights of the streetlamps around them illuminating her from above, she looked especially haunted.

The silence is worse. “What—” he tried, “what brings you… here…?” It was a general enough question. The CU, the small peninsula that was clearly not home. She had looked lost, anyways. Even if she moved with surety earlier, she was clearly far away.

She smiles as he tries pronouncing her name. She can tell he's making an earnest effort, which is more than most can say. She's had a few people abandon their attempts halfway through, jumping ship and pretending like they weren't even making introductions in the first place. It's irritating, but she isn't wholly unsympathetic. Gaeilge is an ancient language with unusual pronunciations. 

“Here,” she repeats, “Korea or the convenience store?” She thinks about it momentarily, realizing that if he means Korea she cannot tell him the truth about Kyuhyun or her stolen hide. But even a convincing lie is difficult to explain in her elementary Korean. “I could not sleep, so I came here.” She starts with the simplest explanation, working up to the rest. “Korea... Um... I lost something important. I had to come to Korea to find it.” She knows this begets more questions than answers, but it's not a lie.

Anticipating a barrage of follow-up inquiries, she looks down at the gimbap in her hand, trying to formulate a better and more convincing response. Her gaze snags on the hangul on the packaging.

“Oh feck me.” This slips out in her Irish-accented English. Tuna. There’s tuna in the gimbap. Typically, she meticulously reads the ingredients of the snacks she buys, but she was so out of it that she hadn't bothered to check. "Sorry," she says in Korean, meeting his gaze again. "I am stupid. I didn't read..." She motions to the gimbap. "Tuna. I do not eat fish."

She believes she is the only selkie in her village who's made and maintained this stance. Everyone else was perfectly content to abide by the circle of life, this seal-eat-fish world. With her father being a fisherman by trade, it took some time for her family to embrace her decision. However, Niamh has articulated it to them numerous times: as a selkie, she has the ability to communicate with sea creatures. She is unable to eat something to which she speaks.

Perhaps 'speak' isn't the right word. Except for whales and dolphins, most sea creatures lack the brain function to engage in anything even resembling human dialogue. They communicate in a distinct and unique way that transcends language and exists squarely in the realm of feeling and primal instinct. Shared language or not, they are still connecting. 

“Please. Have it.” She thrusts the gimbap into his lap. 

[selkieniamh]

choxyun​:

(╯°□°)╯

The more he looked at her, the more memories came up. Though it wasn’t much of anything, aside from the vague sense of familiarity she had brought up in the times he’d seen her prior. Like weird, kindred spirits, the only two looming and lurking around the aisles.

“This?” Doyun lifted up the somewhat dented gimbap up. And he stared at it for a quiet moment. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad either. He was just broke and this was the best option he had. Why he craved it was beyond him, really.

Maybe because it was comforting, because it gave him a sense of normality. All he is reminded of when he ate it was the times before work, when he was sitting at his desk and sorting through his lesson plans for the day, hating the fact that he had to be up so early and leave the house on an empty stomach because he hadn’t woken up in time for breakfast. Just filling his stomach with the first thing he’d found at the convenience store.

He didn’t even think he could recommend it to another person with a sound mind, but looking at the woman, he couldn’t really tell if she was all that… there. She had looked at him as though she wasn’t really looking at him, like she was seeing the space he was occupying but not the body in front of her. As though he were a ghost. But in reality, Doyun was the one that had felt spooked when she’d appeared quite literally like an apparation behind him.

She was quite small-looking. Fragile, almost. The spirit of his mother was alive and well in his head (she was very much alive and well regardless) shrieked at the idea of letting her leave without having eaten anything. “YOU WILL GET BLOWN AWAY BY A STRONG WIND, YOUNG LADY,” she shrieked, already up in arms with her wooden spoon as he weapon and her apron as her shield.

“It does the trick.” Is what he ended up saying. “You wanna try?”

She looks from the gimbap to the young man. "Yes." For a second, she half expects him to rip open the slightly dented package and share it with her right there in the freezer section. When that doesn't happen, she slips under his arm and grabs one for herself. When she goes to slide out, she accidentally knocks his elbow with the top of her skull.

"Oh god," she says in English and then switches back to Korean. "I am so sorry. I promise I am not... uh.... how do you say...?" She mimes tripping over nothing. After a short and awkward moment of that, she becomes self-conscious and stills. She smiles sheepishly. "Never mind." Her cheeks bloom red, like two roses blossoming on her face. "I'm paying now." On her way to the cash register, she grabs two bottles of Pocari Sweat: one for her and another for her new friend. After paying, she waits for him beside the automatic doors. Together, they set out into the deserted night. The only good thing about these sleepless nights is getting this unique view of the city. It's as if they've entered another dimension where they're the only two people in all of Seoul. Well, them and the CU cashier, but that's hardly as romantic a notion. If she were to write a song about this, she would definitely leave him out. No offense, she thinks. 

She sits on the curb in front of an empty bike rack. When he sits beside her, she says, "My name is Niamh." She takes time to pronounce each syllable. Ne-ev. Admittedly, hearing it is easier than reading it. If she had 100 won every time someone pronounced her name as Ni-am, she’d surely have a full belly and a nicer flat. 

"What is your name?" She hands him a Pocari Sweat. It feels nice to do things like that: provide. It's silly to equate buying someone a cheap sports drink with taking care of them, but it is all she has. There was a time when having people over to her home and feeding them was a pivotal aspect of her identity, and now she can hardly feed herself.

As she waits for his response, she looks into his face again, even closer now than they were in the store. She wonders if he is just as lonely as she is. The most significant adjustment she’s had to make since moving to Korea is dealing with the loneliness that arises from living in a big city and not fully grasping the native language. Her whole life she's been raised by the many warm and supportive hands of her small village. Even when she moved to Dublin for university, she was so integrated into the local music scene that she never once felt alone. She used to sing and play fiddle at the local pubs almost every weekend. But now her fiddle is gathering dust in a box in Dunfanaghy, and she hasn't sung since her plane touched down in Korea. She has no idea why. Her throat aches from the desire to sing; it is in her nature, as essential to her being as breathing. And yet... She shakes off the thought, already feeling the tears prick in her eyes.

No thank you, she thinks. Not now. 

[thistoowillpasss]

[thistoowillpasss]

[selkieniamh]

choxyun​:

(╯°□°)╯

Doyun snorted, though the effort wasn’t derived from a conscious effort as much as it was an involuntary reaction. He turned, fingers clenching slightly around the tuna gimbap to the point where it threatened to smush under his fingers.

He was immediately taken aback by the shock of red hair, features as foreign as they were somehow familiar. Like he remembered her without truly recognizing her. Maybe he’d seen her in his fugue state, during one of those episodes where he’d only been half-awake, wandering in just as quick as he made to leave, with only a bottle of juice or strawberry milk in hand after a long night of sleep-walking.

They’d never spoken before, that much he knew. The voice lilted in a manner that was new to him. Somehow bright despite the weariness around the darkened eyes of their owner. The joke is still funny, even after he’d finally processed it amongst the rest of his thoughts, and he snorted again. “The cold never bothered me anyways.” And then he finally stepped back, letting the door of the freezer shut heavily in front of him before he added, “Like Frozen.” He didn’t need to explain every joke he made, but it was a habit, maybe because at some point he realized that he himself couldn’t understand half the shit he said anymore.

He took another step back, his awkward, broken slipper threatened to snap fully in half as he did so. “Did you need to…?” he trailed off, motioning toward the door. It wouldn’t be the first time a veritable stranger had politely engaged him in conversation in order to distract him or get him to move out of the way for something. In moments like that, he felt something like a stubborn cow, sitting in the road and making cars pass around it.

She smiles in spite of herself. Like Frozen. The smile tugs at the corners of her eyes, causing them to water and burn — yet another reminder of her multiple sleepless nights. Nowadays, everything serves as a reminder of how little sleep she's getting: her poor concentration, constant grogginess, lack of energy, and even a notable increase in risky decision-making. It wouldn't be surprising if she started experiencing insomnia-induced hallucinations. For all she knows, she might be hallucinating at this very moment. Perhaps the CU Cryptid is nothing more than a mere fabrication of her weary mind.

Taking a tiny and almost involuntary step forward, she half-expected to pass right through him, thereby confirming her crack-brained hypothesis. Yet, as she draws closer, the reality of his presence becomes apparent. There's an undeniable tangibility about him — an overwhelming weight that burdens his shoulders. His heaviness radiates, evoking a deep sadness within her.

Standing closer to him now, she also begins to notice a familiarity in his demeanor, a hint that he, too, is worn down. Heavy with exhaustion, his eyes seem to beg for closure, but an unyielding force pries them open. Her gaze is drawn to those intense eyes, almost against her will. Their profound depth ages him well beyond his years, sharply contrasting with the boyish youth of his other features.

"Um," she says, "No, but..." She then gestures toward the gimbap in his hand and asks, "Is that good? I have never had it."

[choxyun]

Inconveiences in conveience stores

location: CU convience store , 3 AM @selkieniamh

(╯°□°)╯

Sometime within the last several hours, Doyun found himself with a specific craving for the XXL tuna mayo triangle gimbap, thinking that maybe he should go out and buy one since he had nothing better to do with his time.

Despite the all-consuming need, he had ended up drifting off to sleep in the middle of his thought, just to wake up smack dab in front of the glowing green and purple neon signs of the familiar shop. But not in the same neighborhood he was used to, no—he had found himself in the middle of the city, aka a good 5 hour walk from his apartment. (He had been to his spot before, as though it were a checkpoint for either his unconscious self or the demon.)

Fuck.

He looked down, trying to assess himself after he'd realized just how far he was from home, noting that he was wearing the same baggy white shirt and trainers that he had been while laying in bed. Both were spotless, aside from an old stain on the hem of his shirt that he couldn't ever get out. He even lucked out—he still had his phone, but weirdly enough he only had one slipper on. Though upon further looking, realized that the shoe had bent in half somehow and was damn near fully ripping at the seam.

Double fuck.

Hopefully no one would notice his lack of shoes, and maybe, if he was already on a winning (????) streak, they'd sell flip flops or something similar inside.

He walked in, unreasonably out of breath upon pulling the heavy glass door open. Had he run the entire way here? Whatever the case may be, he had ended up standing in front of the cold food sections for a long time, letting the chilly air blast at his face even after he'd grabbed the gimbap. The ringing of the bell as the door to the place opened made Doyun lift his head again, not a habit but not not a habit. (He was so used to inhabiting these sorts of places at odd hours, and he knew that from the hours of 3 to 5AM, he would basically be alone.)

[selkieniamh]

Niamh isn't getting much sleep these days, which she sees as some real rotten luck. Peltless, hungry, overworked — and now underslept. The list of her ailments is growing at an alarming rate. There was a time when she used sleep to cope, deriving solace during severe bouts of depression by slipping into temporary unconsciousness. But since arriving in Seoul, a whole night's rest is as hard to find as her hide. 

Haunting 24-hour convenience stores has become something of a habit for the selkie. It sure is better than staring blurry-eyed at the ceiling until sunrise. Niamh finds something strangely consoling about a convenience store. Sometimes, she doesn't even buy anything; she floats down each aisle like a crimson-haired wraith. There are plenty of convenience stores in her neighborhood, and which one she chooses to visit is random, allowing her body's nonsensical gravity to pull her wherever it wants.

That night, it leads her to the CU. She's wearing her usual late-night attire: faded lounge pants, her University College Dublin sweatshirt, fuzzy white socks, and Birkenstocks. The dark circles under her eyes are prominent among the paleness of her face, only mildly obscured by her freckles. The twentysomething guy manning the cash register greets her with polite familiarity. She's been around enough at this hour for them to recognize each other, but she's never attempted to make friends with him. Even though she probably should. She needs more friends. And given how the search for her hide has been going, she will be in Korea much longer than she anticipated. 

Usually, she's the only one at the store (aside from the cashier) at this hour. But this time, she's joined by a young man she's taken to calling the CU cryptid. He is a man of about her age with a thick mop of black hair, usually disheveled. Whenever she saw him, he was always in some state of disorder, and this time was no different; he only had one slipper on. At first, she pegged him as a university student on a bender, and then she thought he was a down-on-his-luck junkie (but the drug laws here are much stricter than in Ireland), but now she's unsure what to think.

The Cryptid stands before the freezer, door open and gimbap in hand. The way he stares into the freezer's contents makes it seem like he is trying to conjure a portal to a new world. And maybe he is. It's evident that Seoul has a higher population of supernaturals than she's used to. But he continues to stand there and no portal is conjured. 

She starts down the aisle. When she draws nearer to the young man, she feels compelled to speak to him. That in itself is weird, as she usually avoids people like the plague during these late-night fugue states. Her Korean isn't great at the best of times, even less so when she is running on no sleep. 

"If you stand there for too long," she says in Korean, "I think you will get icicles on your nose." She is trying to make a joke, a risky move in a second language, but she has nothing to lose. He looks so out of it, so zoned out, that there's a chance he didn't even hear her. 

[rhera]

ON THE WATERFRONT - 1954, dir. Elia Kazan

[selkieniamh]

Visit Original Link

Niamh's voice claim: Eurielle

If one was to best sum up Niamh's voice in two words, it would be hauntingly beautiful. Her tone has a pure simplicity that is both grounding and otherworldly, conjuring up images of Celtic fantasy and mist-shrouded seas. She has a lush soprano that packs a punch but would never be described as "weighty." Despite the fact that she has no classical training, her voice gives the impression of pseudo-classical with mystical overtones. Niamh's singing is frequently accompanied by violin or guitar, which she plays. She also writes her own melodies and lyrics but primarily sings covers when performing at the Paramount.

Vocal type: Soprano / Mezzo-soprano

Vocal range: C3 - Ab5

Key descriptors: Ethereal, haunting, vaguely sensual

Languages: Gaelic (native), English

Inspirations: Irish traditional music, church hymns, folk

[gender0bender]

IDs: A black and white graphic of four open mouths with the words “It’s not blasphemy God wronged me first.” The second image is the same graphic inverted. ED.

[heistcinema]

Locked Down (2021) dir. Doug Liman

[sasaq]

(via Twitter / 京都水族館【公式】 @Kyoto_Aquarium)

[selkieniamh]

@feroxforged

[wizardpotions]

i feel like people need to know about the absolute decadence of that one weird tesco express in bournemouth

what the fuck is actually going on

[wizardpotions]

yeah im at the catholic guilt tesco express do you want anything?

[selkieniamh]

I'm swimmin' back

See, you don't have to make it bad

Just 'cause you know how

[selkieniamh]

Any Way the Wind Blows

Date: November 21, 2022 Time: 6:30 P.M.

Niamh wakes on a train. 

A man is standing in front of her, speaking to her in a language she doesn’t understand. It sounds alien, composed of noises the human tongue should be incapable of producing. She lurches forward, scaring the living daylights out of him. Where is she? Her neck aches, and her coat feels heavy, as if it was lined with rocks. She peers through the window into an unfamiliar station. 

"Miss..." 

As her tired and tea-soaked brain boots up, she realizes she does understand the language he's speaking. "We've reached the end of the line. The train terminates here. It all ends here.”

It all ends here? She looks up at him dumbly, unsure if he really said what she thinks he said or if her translation was wrong. He interprets her perplexed expression to mean she doesn’t speak Korean. "Uh... train comes to stop. Here." He tries in English.

Niamh gets to her feet like a zombie, eyes bleary and face burning red. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," she says in rapid Korean. Her mouth feels like it's full of cotton balls. "Thank you. I am sorry." She rushes past the conductor, stumbling down the platform steps to the concourse. She looks up at the entrance sign. Her heart jumps to her throat. 

“Yeoju?!” She'd slept through what was supposed to be a simple one-stop train ride and ended up in Gyeonggi. The end of the line. It all ends here. She digs through her bag for her phone: dead. Lingering in the crowded concourse, she scans the passing people for a kind face, eventually landing on a middle-aged woman in a skirt suit and sneakers. "Excuse me," she says in Korean. "What is the time?”

The woman looks at her watch. "Half past six."

Niamh's heart drops to her stomach. "Thank you." 

She was late for work. Super late. How did this happen? Sure, she hadn't slept in the last few days, but she'd upped her caffeine intake by drinking cup after cup of the strong Irish tea her Mam had shipped to her from Dunfanaghy. But it wasn't just that. The timeline was wrong. She'd boarded the train at one, and even if she'd ridden the entire route twice, it shouldn't have taken five hours. What happened to all that lost time?

Niamh's airway constricts like a snake had wound around her throat. She moves stiffly to the wall, trying to recall how to breathe. She was just late for work. That’s all. It happens. But her brain was catastrophizing, and her heart was slamming against her ribs, threatening to crack them. She leans against the hard concrete, pressing her fists into her eye sockets until she saw stars. I’m losing it, she thinks. 

A chilled gust rushes through her, even though it was a mild day. Despite the fact that she was still inside the station. It startles her out of her panic long enough to notice a message written in bold purple paint on the opposite wall. 

T U R N   A R O U N D

She turns. A door is behind her. She nearly chokes on her own spit. “What in the bleedin’ fuck?” She doesn't remember seeing a door there, and moreover, it doesn’t look like any kind of door you'd find in a train station. It is tall and old. The wood is carved with intricate and beautiful etchings. It seems to be a wild botanical design, but as she looks closer, she notices eyes. Thousands upon thousands of carved eyes. The shiny golden knob also contains an eye talisman, gazing at her expectantly. Watching. Waiting.

Open the door. The thought comes before she can make sense of it. Her hand shakes as it reaches for the knob. 

The first thing she notes is the change of lighting. What was once harsh fluorescents was now shaded lamps, soft yellowish oranges like summer sunflowers and St Lucian sunsets. The walls are an astonishing purple, the color of deoxygenated blood. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. 

Only a foot or two away, standing on a huge Turkish rug, a tall man in an emerald suit smiles at her.

“Hello, Niamh Ó Murchadha,” says Kang. His pronunciation is perfect.  

She staggers back, gazing up at him in frightened amazement. “How—”

“Magic.” A fruity flourish of his hand. 

“But how did you know—”

“Remember that business card I gave you?”

Niamh plunges a hand into her bag, extracting her wallet, and digs around in it until she finds Kang's business card. It was blank again, just like when he gave it to her, but when she flips it over, there is an eye staring up at her.

“Can you read my mind?” She blurts out. 

“No,” he laughs. “I cannot read your mind.” 

“Oh.”

“It’s lovely to see you again,” he says, gesturing around him. “Welcome to my hotel.” 

She looks around. The room they were in was without a doubt grand, with giant bookshelves and glass cases filled with tomes and trinkets. It didn't strike her as an obvious feature of a hotel. 

"Well, welcome to my office," he says, "though I would love to give you a full tour, if you have the time."

Once her astonishment passes, she glares at him. “Why am I here?” 

He laughs once more. "Would you rather be having a panic attack in the middle of Yeoju Station instead?"

“Maybe,” she says under her breath. This only widens his smile.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you had given my offer any thought."

“You couldn’t just call me or something?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Your phone is dead.”

“I have a job, remember,” she reminds him.

"I do remember, and I'm quite certain you were supposed to be at said job about..." he checks his watch, "four hours ago."

She cringes. 

He raises his palms in a sign of peace. “Look, I did not mean for this to be an ambush. I saw that you were in trouble, and I wanted to help. That is all.”

Her hard expression doesn’t ease up. “So you’ve been spying on me?”

"I wouldn't call it spying," he says, "keeping an eye out. I care about you."

“Why?” The word contorts Niamh’s mouth. “You don’t even know me.”

"But I'd like to, if you would allow me the pleasure."

She's not sure what to make of him. He was strange, but he hadn't harmed her. It was difficult to figure out what he was up to or what his true intentions were. Her Mam had always said that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was, and everything Kang presented was more than good. It was magnificent. It would completely transform her life. Her thoughts are interrupted by a loud grumble, her belly announcing its hollowness like a passing thunderclap.

"I'm having flashbacks to our first meeting," Kang muses. "How's this: stay at the hotel for the night. Free of charge. Have a meal, a hot shower, a good night's rest, and then we'll talk in the morning. If you decide you don't want anything to do with me or my hotel, I won't ever bother you again. I'll even call that quaint cafe where you work and explain that you had an unavoidable emergency and that is why you were unable to make it to work tonight. What do you say?"

Too good to be true. But, by God, she was tired. She was hungry. 

"Okay," she mumbles. "I'll stay at your feckin' hotel..."

His grin is incandescent. “Wonderful. Now, let me show you to your room.”

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Ocean Suite, that’s what he called it. 

Of course, she thinks, of course that's the room he gives me. He's obviously trying to butter her up, win her over. But when she steps inside, she finds it hard to be mad.

The walls are a distinct shade of blue that she instantly recognizes. It is the cool azure that could only be seen while underwater and looking up. Within her, sentimentality sings. How many times had she laid on a bed of algae, daydreaming as she marveled up at this exact color? 

"The interior designer was a mermaid," Kang hummed, clearly proud. “Washroom’s over there. There are complimentary pajamas in the wardrobe. We’ll launder your clothes and return them to you in the morning.”

If she had thought the bedroom was lovely, the claw foot tub and luxury soap set nearly brings her to tears. The tub is large enough that she could fully immerse herself without having to bunch her legs up. 

While she dries off with Pima cotton towels and changes into the provided pajamas (deep purple satin set with mother-of-pearl buttons and the hotel's insignia hand-stitched on the breast), a meal had been laid out on the table in the main room. She gawks at the loaded plates and shiny cutlery. She hadn’t even heard anyone come in. 

She eats the three-course meal with embarrassing zeal. And she's well satisfied by the end of it, licking the plates clean. She pauses, realizing she hasn't felt this way in months. The sheer comfort of fullness actually moves her to tears. 

It’s strange: she hasn’t slept in a few days and was expecting yet another night of insomnia. But as she slips into the king-sized bed, her eyelids grow heavy. The sheets are smooth silk and pale green like seaweed. The pillows are firm but plush, the fabric cool against her cheek. 

A cluster of clear crystals dangles above her head like a baby mobile. She reaches up and touches the shards, watching them swing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She falls asleep, dreaming of the strong arms of a vampire she knows.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"This is where you would perform."

The salon is a fusion of old Hollywood decadence and fantasy garden blooms. Millions of brightly colored paper cranes roost across the ceiling. Under the dulcet theater lights, their delicate origami wings flutter. The forest-green filigreed carpet is plush beneath her feet. Her mouth hangs agape.

"Heavenly, isn’t it?" Kang says as he leads her deeper inside. “You'd be my sole chanteuse. You'd perform every night, Monday through Friday, and occasionally for special events. However, your days and weekends are yours to do with whatever you’d like."

Niamh’s brow furrows. “You haven’t even heard me sing.”

"I don't need to," Kang winks, "I already know you're a one-of-a-kind talent."

“I don’t like that you seem to know so much about me, and I know nothing about you.”

"There will be plenty of time in the future for you to get to know me," he says, approaching a set of star-strewn velvet curtains. They part with a dramatic movement of Kang’s hand. The massive stage, designed to resemble an open birdcage, is somehow supported by an understructure of gold delphinium stocks. A colossal harp and a white grand piano grace the stage top. Plump purple flowers and a tangle of verdant vines cascade over open-topped cloches, emitting an enticing floral aroma. “What do you think?"

Niamh's expression softens. "It's perfect."

"Almost," he corrects, "it will be truly perfect when you are up there."

Distrust claws at her chest. “It all seems too good to be true...” Earlier, in the private confines of his office, Kang broke down her proposed payment and her eyes had nearly popped out of her skull. A week as his chanteuse would pay her more than four months at the Oak & Ivory. And she would be doing something she loved. 

"I know," Kang says, his voice soothing. "But that's the whole point of this place. It's why I created it." He walks over to her. "I got sick of how miserable life was and how we were all just supposed to get used to it. I refused to take part in such a bleak ideology. Existence should be enchanting. Magical. I've made it my life's mission to create a space of pure childlike joy, to remind myself and everyone who enters the Paramount that the world is a wonderful place. And you happen to be part of that vision. I know it may appear that I am doing you a big favor, but I assure you that it is the opposite. This is not charity. This offer comes with no strings attached, no indentured servitude, no blood contracts. You are free to leave at any time. You owe me nothing beyond the standard expectations of the job."

Kang’s cologne envelops her, a warm musk that reminds her of her father. Most embarrassingly, Niamh finds her eyes pricking with tears. 

He pulls her into a hug. “There, there, little songbird. I'm sorry the world has been so unkind to you. Let me take you under my wing. Let me protect you from the storm."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she relaxes into his embrace. She feels like a very young child, but not in a bad way. She'd been a runaway since her arrival in Korea. A hungry girl no stranger to aching hearts and harsh weather. And for a long time, it seemed like there was nothing she could do. No way to win. 

"Yes," Niamh finally says. “I’ll do it. I'll sing for you."