A/N: I won't update the SoEul fanfiction here. Please visit my profile for the links to later chapters.
Note: This is an Alternate Universe.
I've always enjoyed reading fantasy stories so I've decided to write one myself. I'm also inspired by the movie, "She's the Man".
By the way, I'm not really familiar with the history of Korea so please pardon me if I made any errors. Feel free to point them out though, I'll edit it ^^
Read and review! =] Please give some feedback or correct my mistakes.
{Prologue} Forgotten Memory
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.
– John Donne
The spectacular park was ablaze in exceedingly surreal autumn tones of deep reds, oranges, browns and greens. The maples were a blaze of scarlet, while the ginkgoes were radiant yellow. Once again, it was the melancholic season of autumn.
He detested this repulsive season.
But he couldn't stop himself from returning to Seoul every autumn.
Having lived through centuries, he knew by heart that autumn in poetry had often been associated with melancholy. During this season, the possibilities of summer were gone and the chill of winter was on the horizon. Skies turned grey and people turned inward, both physically and mentally. This was exactly what was happening to him now.
He was reminiscing.
He had met her here during autumn. Joseon Dynasty. 1647. They were both from the yangban class. This place marked their first encounter and last argument.
A great tumult of emotions had fallen upon him and he was torn this way and that by alternating fits of grief, wrath and anguish. He couldn't cope with the emotional overload despite the fact that it happened centuries ago. He was engulfed in his tragic past…
"Mianhaeyo, Yi Jeong. I'm marrying Il Hyun. I really love him." She admitted to him, not daring to look into his eyes.
He glared, brutal intent growing in his eyes, his anger growing hotter than he had felt in a long time. How could they betray him? He never expected his beloved to marry his elder brother. His fury was strangely intensified. It was so overwhelming that he couldn't control it. He didn't know what came over him.
He only remembered that he flew upon her in an instant. The next thing he knew, his hands were stained with blood.
Her blood.
Her body was sprawled on the leaf-littered ground. Every visible surface was spattered with blood, red-brown and sinister as it dried. And one look at the body revealed why: there was a pair of livid purple wounds in the neck.
It was later discovered that he had lost control. That he was hungry. That he drank her blood in order to transform.
As if killing his beloved wasn't enough, he had to consume her blood.
He was a monster.
And that was why he became a Casanova. He toyed with women, trifled their affections for him and exploited their bodies. He didn't commit genuine feelings in all his flings.
"Don't be sad," a young girl, probably at the age of ten, with French braid consoled him, shattering his reverie. She stood before him while he was seated on an empty bench, his head propped on his hands. Realizing the major height difference between them, she stood on tiptoe to wipe away the lone tear that slipped down his cheek. She then broke into a breathtaking smile of exultation for being able to give him solace.
He was appalled. He didn't know her and indeed she hardly knew him. So who was she to meddle in his affairs?
"I'm not sad."
"Don't lie. Didn't your appa and eomma teach you to be honest? My parents did." The young girl huffed, folding her arms across her chest, to express her irritation. Her eyes narrowed and then, widened with an idea.
"My eomma taught me that: Children… when in front of what they really want, they don't hesitate. If they lose it, they know they'll start crying." She beamed with the pure joy of having remembered such a difficult saying. "So, did you lose something?"
Her eyes remained on his unwaveringly and he questioned whether that sparkling sharpness in her eyes could pierce through and read his mind. It couldn't be. He was the one with extraordinary powers, not her. A horridly perfect smirk spilled along his lips. This girl was too naïve. He didn't want to be near her a moment longer. Hence, he stood up and sauntered away but she attached to him like a leech.
"Did you know my appa and eomma met during autumn? They even named me after this season," gushed the young girl. "What about you? Do your name have any special meaning?"
He ignored her and dived his hands into his pockets. Why was she telling him her life story? Was she that bored?
"C'mon, tell me!"
When he didn't reply her, she threw tantrums, typical of a young child.
"Big bully! No wonder you're alone. Bleh!" She stuck out her tongue at him and scampered away, giggling the whole time.
The girl's logic was infuriating. He felt a wave of anger flood his body. Was Fate playing a cruel trick on him? Letting a young child lecture him. But she could understand him in a glance even though they were strangers. No, he needed to find out – whether it was by chance or intentional.
With his predator's senses, he could hear perfectly people's hearts thudding dully around him. He narrowed in on her scent but it was mingled with the autumnal smell. Her scent resembled closely to the season; it made his attempt of seeking her out difficult.
His eyes blazing with rage, he headed to the nearest pub with inhuman speed. Since he failed to find the child, he decided to vent his frustration through feeding. He scanned around the pub and found a target – a scantily clothed woman with voluptuous curves. Exploiting his charms, he effortlessly lured her to a desolate alley. She thought that she had found a rare gem. Oh, how wrong she was. And she would never find out the reason why.
As soon as they were alone, he struck, swift as a hunting bird. He slammed her against the concrete wall, causing her to let out a whimper. Her eyes widened when his fangs sank into her exposed neck. He greedily swallowed the crimson liquid until none was left. All was quiet except for the sobs of protest and the slurping sounds he made. When he was done, he threw the wasted body on the ground without a second glance.
His hunger was fulfilled. Humans were merely food to him.
Glossary
Yangban: Aristocrats including scholars with social prestige who were rather economically deprived and rich merchants with considerable power.
Mianhaeyo: An informal way of saying "I am sorry"
Appa: Daddy
Eomma: Mommy