Characters/Ship: STAYC Isa/Sumin Tags: witch/princess, mention of blood, secret relationship Permission to Remix: Yes -
In the heavy fall of snow, the window is left ajar. There is light inside, soft and yellow, shuddering as the wind pushes inside through the crack and catches into the candle. It’s left open for her.
The cat slips through it, snowflakes pilling on her black coat as she steps into the warmth of the palace. Sumin is already there, round eyes glued to the window, pearly whites flashing immediately, warmer than the cracking fire in the hearth.
“Chaeyoung,” she says, glee forced even though her smile rings true.
She doesn’t get out of bed. Sumin waits for her to come to her open arms, and Chaeyoung jumps on the bed instantly. In her cat form, everything is easier — slipping through the watchful eyes of the guards, parading around the palace under the moonlight with her midnight coat, accepting the easy love Sumin readily offers for her. Because the gentle fingertips scratching behind her ears, under her chin, caressing her back are all she anticipates, as she wanders on the outskirts of the palace, waiting for the signal of a cracked window. Days go by before another stolen moment is given to them, the harsh winter cold seeping into her bones as she waits, perched on the roof like a gargoyle.
If it was only Chaeyoung’s decision, she would stay between Sumin’s arms as a cat, basking in her love. But Sumin tugs lightly at one of her ears, impatient as she is greedy and Chaeyoung jumps out of her hold, burrowing herself under the blankets. The shift is quick, unpainful.
Except, the touches come less easily now. The burden of their lives crashes back as soon as Chaeyoung is not only just a stray.
It’s an unsaid pact, to keep everything within line. But Sumin likes to keep these lines blurry.
I missed you, hangs in the air unsaid.
Sumin’s eyes are warm brown as they glint back, I missed you too.
Some things don't need to be said aloud, otherwise they would break into sharp little pieces.
Because even if they falter, Sumin’s hands return to Chaeyoung, even more tenderly than before. Wrapped in the cocoon of Sumin’s childhood bedroom, strangely empty except for the looming presence of the royal family, gilded frame and textured oil paint hanging from the wall, it’s just them. Without titles dragging their names down, breathing comes effortlessly.
“Your brother,” Chaeyoung starts, swallowing the lump in her throat, chest heavy with the searing coal of truth. “He visited me.”
Sumin hums, fingers tangled in Chaeyoung’s long strands. Instead of answering, she pulls out her nightstand drawer, hand clutching around a pearl-embedded brush. Running it through Chaeyoung’s hair over and over again, she stretches the silence long enough to make it uncomfortable.
“Is that so?”
“You won’t even ask me why?”
“Do you think I need to ask?” Sumin peeks at her, a permanent smile perched on her lips.
Chaeyoung used to live in a small cottage in the forest. Wildflowers, berries, roots — she collected them, dried them, bottled them into small jars. For good crops, for better winds, for more luck were written on the jars with her scratchy handwriting and given to visitors in exchange for food and company. Until her cottage was burned to the ground.
One version of what happened: Chaeyoung is the witch who wanted to kill crown princess Sumin.
Another version: Sumin kissed Chaeyoung as she rubbed healing balm on the dagger wounds under her heart.
Neither of them is the whole truth. Because the dagger thrust through the supple flesh of Sumin came from a person a lot nearer to her than Chaeyoung, and Chaeyoung has no affinity to healing, whatsoever. Finding the bleeding crown princesses, her regular visitor, in her backyard, though, made her think quickly on her feet. Hands bloodied and Sumin pale as snow between her arms, the kiss still lingering on the corner of her mouth, was how the guards found them. That’s how killer was brandished on her, similar to the silver scar resting hidden on Sumin’s skin.
“What I gave him will put you in a death-like sleep for a few days. You will wake up before the royal mourning ends. You won’t be buried alive.”
Sumin nods. The prince paid for the vial by leaving her alive and breathing; the silver potion is not potent enough to actually kill Sumin despite the wishes of the prince. It will be tied back to her, though, another reason to raise the bounty on her head.
Chaeyoung knows her place. She still says, “You could leave.”
“You know I won’t.”
It’s infuriating how Sumin seems to have an answer to everything. Seems to weather each hairpin turn of her life with the same sunny smile, a lie of I’m fine resting on her tongue. The crown rests heavily on her head, even if it’s still just a possibility; yet, greed runs in the family. Sumin won’t give up on her title. Not for her usurper brother, not for her own life. Not for Chaeyoung.
“What’s your favorite flower?”
“Daisies. The yellow ones.” She chuckles like something is particularly funny. She stops brushing Chaeyoung's hair. Instead, she cups her face, gently turning her head to catch her gaze. “I won’t die, Chaeyoung. At least not now. You don’t have to bring flowers to my grave in the near future.”
Chaeyoung nods and pretends to believe her. Yet, the weight Sumin lost is visible even in her nightgown; the dullness of her clever eyes makes her question if it’s another lie to rest her concerns. Sumin begins braiding her hair with swift motions, kissing the tip when she finishes. Chaeyoung wonders how long she will have Sumin like this, until her sun swallows herself and burns out.
[FILL] the more you say (the less i know)
Tags: witch/princess, mention of blood, secret relationship
Permission to Remix: Yes
-
In the heavy fall of snow, the window is left ajar. There is light inside, soft and yellow, shuddering as the wind pushes inside through the crack and catches into the candle. It’s left open for her.
The cat slips through it, snowflakes pilling on her black coat as she steps into the warmth of the palace. Sumin is already there, round eyes glued to the window, pearly whites flashing immediately, warmer than the cracking fire in the hearth.
“Chaeyoung,” she says, glee forced even though her smile rings true.
She doesn’t get out of bed. Sumin waits for her to come to her open arms, and Chaeyoung jumps on the bed instantly. In her cat form, everything is easier — slipping through the watchful eyes of the guards, parading around the palace under the moonlight with her midnight coat, accepting the easy love Sumin readily offers for her. Because the gentle fingertips scratching behind her ears, under her chin, caressing her back are all she anticipates, as she wanders on the outskirts of the palace, waiting for the signal of a cracked window. Days go by before another stolen moment is given to them, the harsh winter cold seeping into her bones as she waits, perched on the roof like a gargoyle.
If it was only Chaeyoung’s decision, she would stay between Sumin’s arms as a cat, basking in her love. But Sumin tugs lightly at one of her ears, impatient as she is greedy and Chaeyoung jumps out of her hold, burrowing herself under the blankets. The shift is quick, unpainful.
Except, the touches come less easily now. The burden of their lives crashes back as soon as Chaeyoung is not only just a stray.
It’s an unsaid pact, to keep everything within line. But Sumin likes to keep these lines blurry.
I missed you, hangs in the air unsaid.
Sumin’s eyes are warm brown as they glint back, I missed you too.
Some things don't need to be said aloud, otherwise they would break into sharp little pieces.
Because even if they falter, Sumin’s hands return to Chaeyoung, even more tenderly than before. Wrapped in the cocoon of Sumin’s childhood bedroom, strangely empty except for the looming presence of the royal family, gilded frame and textured oil paint hanging from the wall, it’s just them. Without titles dragging their names down, breathing comes effortlessly.
“Your brother,” Chaeyoung starts, swallowing the lump in her throat, chest heavy with the searing coal of truth. “He visited me.”
Sumin hums, fingers tangled in Chaeyoung’s long strands. Instead of answering, she pulls out her nightstand drawer, hand clutching around a pearl-embedded brush. Running it through Chaeyoung’s hair over and over again, she stretches the silence long enough to make it uncomfortable.
“Is that so?”
“You won’t even ask me why?”
“Do you think I need to ask?” Sumin peeks at her, a permanent smile perched on her lips.
Chaeyoung used to live in a small cottage in the forest. Wildflowers, berries, roots — she collected them, dried them, bottled them into small jars. For good crops, for better winds, for more luck were written on the jars with her scratchy handwriting and given to visitors in exchange for food and company. Until her cottage was burned to the ground.
One version of what happened: Chaeyoung is the witch who wanted to kill crown princess Sumin.
Another version: Sumin kissed Chaeyoung as she rubbed healing balm on the dagger wounds under her heart.
Neither of them is the whole truth. Because the dagger thrust through the supple flesh of Sumin came from a person a lot nearer to her than Chaeyoung, and Chaeyoung has no affinity to healing, whatsoever. Finding the bleeding crown princesses, her regular visitor, in her backyard, though, made her think quickly on her feet. Hands bloodied and Sumin pale as snow between her arms, the kiss still lingering on the corner of her mouth, was how the guards found them. That’s how killer was brandished on her, similar to the silver scar resting hidden on Sumin’s skin.
“What I gave him will put you in a death-like sleep for a few days. You will wake up before the royal mourning ends. You won’t be buried alive.”
Sumin nods. The prince paid for the vial by leaving her alive and breathing; the silver potion is not potent enough to actually kill Sumin despite the wishes of the prince. It will be tied back to her, though, another reason to raise the bounty on her head.
Chaeyoung knows her place. She still says, “You could leave.”
“You know I won’t.”
It’s infuriating how Sumin seems to have an answer to everything. Seems to weather each hairpin turn of her life with the same sunny smile, a lie of I’m fine resting on her tongue. The crown rests heavily on her head, even if it’s still just a possibility; yet, greed runs in the family. Sumin won’t give up on her title. Not for her usurper brother, not for her own life. Not for Chaeyoung.
“What’s your favorite flower?”
“Daisies. The yellow ones.” She chuckles like something is particularly funny. She stops brushing Chaeyoung's hair. Instead, she cups her face, gently turning her head to catch her gaze. “I won’t die, Chaeyoung. At least not now. You don’t have to bring flowers to my grave in the near future.”
Chaeyoung nods and pretends to believe her. Yet, the weight Sumin lost is visible even in her nightgown; the dullness of her clever eyes makes her question if it’s another lie to rest her concerns. Sumin begins braiding her hair with swift motions, kissing the tip when she finishes. Chaeyoung wonders how long she will have Sumin like this, until her sun swallows herself and burns out.
Daisies. She will keep that in mind.