#!nohminwoo

[themidnightsiren]

@destructiveurgxs from here!

        Right and wrong, evil and good are not as distinguishable as black and white. What to one is evil, is good to another. If it wasn’t, no wars would’ve started and no conflict would arise. Humans don’t run their lives with the notion that what they are doing is wrong. They either convince themselves they are right or they are convinced by others. Naiive was the man of four decades when he thought he and the vampire were polar opposites. To think she came to his life to reassure him he wasn’t the villain, because he wasn’t like her. He wasn’t at her level. He wasn’t as tainted as she was. A recording of all his thoughts was blasting at the loudest volume inside his head the second the bullet was released from behind the metal that held it.         The man’s body seemed to take ages to fall to the ground, everything was so slow. She was there. He could read her lips mouthing words about not needing his help, that she could’ve taken matters into her own hands. He knew she could. He never doubted it. He also knew a fight between her and an agent—how funny! Assassins employed by the government get a different label. Minwoo’s legs were heavy as they carried him to the body covered in blood.

       With the dagger in his pocket, he tore more of the fabric hiding the wound caused by the bullet. He kept digging in the flesh until he managed to remove the bullet so no traces can lead to him. If he was prepared, he would’ve had a weapon other than the one given by the government. “Move.” He pushed her to leave the scene with him. Those two forces shouldn’t meet. At least not now. He knew better that those prideful brainwashed soldiers would stand no chance in front the army behind Lorraine.

      She was already there, close. Achingly close. Sharp, ruby painted nails digging onto her own palms in restrain as his fingers laced on her neck, and it’s a nasty sensation to be under those dirty hands. The irritation, she could still tolerate because the smile she wore despite her flushed face is enough provocation to the other - a mockery of how the human could never hurt her, nor kill her, in that own set of filthy hands. His bloodshot eyes and popping veins all over his face is a sign of impending defeat, wrath consuming him and she was so sure any moment he’d spill the words she needed.

      Yet a gun blast silenced her hopes in an instant.

      A guttural scream of frustration follows, fiery eyes darting at the man holding the gun, fresh scent of powder and smoke on its tip.

      The man has his own creative ways of meddling into her life.

      “What the hell are you doing, Noh Minwoo?!” Hands on her waist, the man’s silence exasperates her. Fairly, his appearance at the masquerade should be enough warning to her – his mask a constant reminder of the façade he’s been hiding underneath the face he shows. It should be enough for her to fend off the man out of her circle, out of her life. But he keeps showing up.

       Lorraine knew he was trouble on that very first instance.

       The body was left lifeless on the warehouse, its eyes open and mouth agape with blood dripping from his lips. Blood instead of information. An information she direly needed. “What the heck is that for? Care to explain?” A quick tug of his arm is needed for him to halt his fast pace of walking, her eyes demanding his attention and explanation. If it will suffice to douse the infuriation brought about by his careless action.

[themidnightsiren]

A starter for @insatiableurgxs

          Few minutes into the evening finds her in the same solitude that sticks to her in almost permanence, the air shifts into its colder temperature in a summer season – not too cold, but still, there’s cold. Always cold. Fingers tap in a pattern, rhythm steady, gently onto her crossed lap as she sits on a bench isolated from the crowd. The river sleeps silently in the dark, small waves glistening as the moonlight hits them. It is a slice of time in her life where she seeks peace and finds it momentarily, letting the nature drown her, steal her away from the time being and just let everything flow, much like the waters ahead of her. It’s a good couple of minutes of bliss, until a presence is recognized by her keen senses.

         Calm, steady sounds of breathing, stern footsteps albeit cautious, a scent shared with the rest of the people surrounding the city, of plain humanness, though there’s a distinct trace that differentiates him from the rest. A distance separates them, safe distance, he knew. She knew, and it was as though he was hiding while subtly making his presence known. Lorraine need not move her head to find where he is. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” are her words leaving her lips in a volume he’d hear from his position. “How calm Han River seem to be at night. Though I did not know you were into this kind of sight-seeing.” Lorraine moves a bit to one side, opening a space on the bench for a seat while crossing her hands together and leaning back, finding comfort despite the loss of beloved solitude with the presence of a company.

[themidnightsiren]

Masquerade | ℒ & ℳ

@insatiableurgxs ( Noh Minwoo )

Every day is a soiree of pretenses. Every one hides in a variety of façade, each guise depicts each side of one’s self to present to its respective audience - all different but never the entirety. With each day, one is different, but each day is a parcel of his or her whole being. And so each time you meet a person, you see a mask different than what any other else sees. That is just how people are; it is not necessarily a faux persona, albeit there are people who dons masks that was far from their real selves – all because of either malicious intentions or of an attempt to shield themselves.

It was just as the same for Lorraine – she wears disguises for her own benefit, for taunting individuals until she revels on their misery (aside from blood), or so she’d like to think so but it was more of walls to protect herself. And successfully it did, perhaps too much that she was so used in changing one mask to another they were slowly absorbed into her. And the fact that her heart was shut off, deliberately closed from any emotions made it a lot much easier. Lorraine changes masks as frequent as she changes her clothes.

And perhaps tonight, she needed a stronger façade. Her presence was requested at a ball that was rare but necessary as deemed by the ‘older’ generations of their kind. Mingle with beings of your same class, they say. One needs a day to socialize with people of their own, and perhaps take a break from interacting with beings beneath them – humans. A soiree of blood-lusting beings was set at a very secluded part of Anyang, in a Château owned by the oldest, and if not the most powerful vampire settled in Korea. Wealthy as he is he made sure all guests received invitations – medieval in style sealed in wax painted in gold. Too old-fashioned, Lorraine thought.

Given a choice she would’ve ignored such invitation. An assembly of the vampires would only mean one thing – that there lay a possibility of crossing paths with those she loathed passionately. The Romanov Brothers to be exact. However there also leaves a possibility of spotting the betrayer. That itself is enough reason to bring herself to attend. Behind the masks, she will certainly recognize the scent of a traitor.

Garbed in a simple yet exquisite dress, with diamond studded on the strap of one shoulder as black fabric flow elegantly at the length of her built, its color faintly changing to a brighter hue of red as it reaches the floor, Lorraine exuded elegance as she sauntered on the hall, Louboutin heels clicking with every step. Regardless of the red mask that covers half of her face, her countenance was enough to have garnered most of the attention, soft nude-colored lips then gracing each gaze with a smile. Again she had proved herself an allure of the night.

Left in isolation, Lorraine enjoyed the solitude as people sparked conversations everywhere. Truth be told, she was not one who fancies conversation with other vampires just because they share the same kind. She was there for a purpose – to look for the traitor, and if not, find clues helpful for her revenge. And maybe find something really noteworthy although she doubt she could. Parties such as this are always boring unless someone makes it interesting.

[themidnightsiren]

He who comes back for a monster | @destructiveurgxs

      Emptiness is embodied in her.

      And she should have known. Oh she had known it well, back when everything in her life fell down in a one simple bite, two scars and two lives. The fact that her existence is a bane is enough for her to accept the hollow being that was her.

      Lorraine is a void. She knows it. She knows it all too well.

      What made her forget about it?

     What made her realize again how empty she is?

     Simple

     A home void of one’s presence. And a fear of losing that one.

     The vast space of her house is full of luxurious furniture and all that is needed in an abode, and yet no matter how occupied it is, it had always felt empty because there was no one but her in there. And she did not mind. She did not mind at all. The dark silence is what she had sought for and the solitude is a choice. And yet how come today, a Sunday, if it even matter, it vexes her even if it shouldn’t.

     There is a pit in her stomach the moment she steps inside her own house; the night possessing the entirety of it as darkness befalls and spreads in every corner. And the darkness doesn’t seem to fade as a switch is turned on, allowing the lampshade near the couch to blink a few before the amber light spreads dimly.

     If anything, it is even unnerving.

    What is?

     There goes again the inner voice that questions her. It has been there for a good while now, and perhaps, it is the same voice that causes this strange dread inside of her.

     He’s not here.

     It wasn’t an answer to the voice but a fact that she ingrains in herself. An attempt to keep her calm, maybe. A scotch from the liquor bar is snatched, her glass is already waiting in the marble table and it only takes a few seconds for the liquor to stay on the glass before it reaches her mouth. An attempt to keep her calm, hopefully.

     And so? Why does it matter that he’s not here? It’s like he’s been here for so long.

     But he’s been here long enough to….

     How do you call it?

     To long for?

     What does she long for? Those moments when she’d arrive home to the sound of a hum and the smell of grilled meat and sautéed vegetables from the kitchen, partnered with that smell of vintage wine waiting for them at the dining table? Or those moments when she’d arrive home to hear the ticks of the keys as he sat on the couch with his computer on his lap? Or those moments when she’d arrive home to a silent house only to find him soundly sleeping in her bed?

     To be missed?

     Or to make her feel not empty after such a long time?

     Because she had been so used to days like this before - alone with only whisky, or scotch, or any other wines or blood to fill her up on nights. She need not the noise, she hates it. Human food isn’t even a necessity. She’s possessive in her own things that she despised having another person sits on her couch, more so laying on her bed. She enjoyed the company of darkness and nothingness.

     So why is she being like this?

     Because it’s Noh Minwoo.

     And so?

     Because he’s not here. Noh Minwoo is not here.

           What if he’s not here? Will her world collapse? Will she even be bothered by the emptiness that she had long felt before? Will she feel hollow once more when she’s always been in the first place? Will she be in pain? Will it devastate her?

     Isn’t it what is happening right now, Lorraine?      

      “Fuck it.”

     Longing turns into anger – turns into self-loathing. Just how her slim fingers which once holding the glass gently in her hands comes into crushing it, letting the shards scrape her own skin. The blood oozes quickly, but her skin seals itself back.

     The pain is there, she can feel it. And how she longs for the pain to disappear just as her wound had.

     He’ll never come back.

     She takes another glass, letting it sit onto her palm before crushing it again. She wants to bleed. But her body betrays her.

     Because Lorraine thought she was immune to the pain. And yet it just simply won’t go away.

     See what he has done to you.

           What has he done? It’s not as if she hasn’t lived her life without him. This will pass. This is nothing.

     Another glass shatters.

    See how you destroy yourself, Lorraine.

     I am long devastated.

     And another.

     Don’t say I did not warn you.

     The continuous smashing of the glass causes shards to remain on her skin, preventing it to heal itself quickly and thus, allowing blood to trickle down her hand. It is such a sight, her own blood, her own pain visible – a concrete reminder that she isn’t inevitable to pain after all. And she still bleeds, she still hurts, and she still have some humanity left in her.

     “I turned it off.”

     The verbal declaration does nothing but temporarily disturb the silence that has slowly become irritating. It is still there, the inner voice echoing screaming at her.

You are a monster.

No one loves a monster.

He will leave you.

Now is the time he will.

Your home is gone, Lorraine.

STOP. MAKE IT STOP.

     It crashes. The bottle of whisky and her composure. And possibly her tears.

     It is too loud that she fails to hear the entrance of another person inside her house, the person who is the root of all these.

     He’s here.

     He’s finally here.

     He came back.

     But the pain and the anger don’t stop.

     “Why only now?”

     It isn’t a plain question but frustration set with each word and the sternness of her voice.  He is probably taken aback by the aggression and fury that could be seen in her eyes. Or by the shards of glass scattered around her. Or by the fact that she is yet again vulnerable in front of his eyes.

     “Answer me!”

     Did you come back only to leave? Do you fill in the void in me only to empty me out again? Did you come to really devastate me?

     The shards on her hand cuts deeper with a clenched fist. It is an attempt to dull the pain that would come at his answers.

No one destroys you like this, Lorraine.

     Yeah right. No one but herself.

[themidnightsiren]

If you were to put our relationship to test, what would be the test of your choice to see how strong our relationship is?

       Do you even think there’s a need forit? The whole ordeal itself is a test. You and I both know we’re treading ondangerous waters – you know my secret, I know yours. We’re on the oppositepoles yet we seem to be like on the same side. We are far conflicting beings never meant to be together in the firstplace, yet here we are. No need for a specific test, Minwoo. Everything that wehave right now boils down to a critical question: Do you really know me? Well enoughto accept who, what I really am? WhatI can do and what I cannot? Because I assure you, you barely know me. I barely know myself.

        Once you find out, the choice will be yours. It’s not a matter of how strong ourrelationship is. It’s a matter of how strong you are amidst this. How long can you hold on? BecauseI am weak. Because sooner or later this will shatter. All of these is adelusion of affections – I have none, Minwoo. I have none.

[themidnightsiren]

Caprice No. 24 A Quandary of Us  | Lorraine Lee & Noh Minwoo for @insatiableurgxs

This was never going to be simple.

It is a saturation of truths and lies altogether,                masks worn and walls torn,                             pretenses and realities                                           swirling in volatile emotions.

How to tell? How to decipher?               Listen to your heart.                              What heart?

Let’s dance into this mayhem we’ve both made.               It’s dangerous.                             I know. I know.

We’ll never make this out alive.