Stay
o.o0o.o
On the day of her marriage, So Han Eul cries.
o.o0o.o
She's never met her groom, but she's heard the rumours. Of his gambling, his drunkenness, his brutality and violence. Sometimes, it was even whispered that Moon Jae Shin could kill a man with his bare hands without breaking sweat.
'Guh-ro', they called him. Crazy Horse. Wild One. He-Who-Cannot-Be-Tamed.
Even his name strikes her heart with fear.
The thought of the hand of such a monster on her repulses Han Eul to the core, but this marriage is her father's will, and Han Eul is nothing if not a filial daughter.
Her father is her Lord and Master, and obeying him is her duty, just as she must one day obey her husband, and later, her son – if Heaven if kind enough to bless her with such a gift.
She has no other choice but to do so.
o.o0o.o
She is a reluctant, trembling bride in brilliant scarlet silk. Her face is painted with the ghostly pallor and unnaturally red lips of a porcelain doll, and every step forward weighs heavier than the pinching load of the elaborate bridal headpiece on her head.
One step. Two steps.
The bright, thunderous sound of wedding drums and firecrackers rings a funeral dirge in her ears.
o.o0o.o
As her unduly swollen and still-red eyes meet her groom's, and Han Eul takes in his appearance for the first time, she is shocked to find that he is startlingly, boyishly handsome. He looks nothing like the Guh-ro she imagined, the gruesome beast that the rumours painted.
But Han Eul knows better than to take comfort in this unexpected revelation.
Monsters wore beautiful faces, too.
o.o0o.o
When the bride and groom share their first drink as husband and wife, Han Eul is still mired so deeply in her own dread that she doesn't notice the tremor in Jae Shin's hands when he raises the ceremonial cup to his lips.
o.o0o.o
The ceremony over, the lavish wedding feast at an end, the new bride is led by a bevy of clucking matrons to her marriage bed, where she is carefully undressed and readied for the night ahead. When their duties are done, the women leave in a chattering cloud of helpful insinuations and laughter, and all too soon, Han Eul is left frighteningly alone in the sudden, ominous silence.
And so she waits, trembling in the dimly lit wedding chamber, listening for the sound of her husband's approaching footsteps to the quick-fire rhythm of her own pounding heart.
o.o0o.o
In wide-eyed rigid vigil, Han Eul sits, but even when the morning light streaks pale orange across the eastern horizon, there is still no sign of her husband.
He never steps foot into the wedding chamber.
Not that night. Or the next. Or the next.
Eventually, sheer exhaustion wins out over the maidenly fear of her matrimonial duties – those terrifying, unknown and unmentionable things that she knew were expected of a wife – until Han Eul at last succumbs to an exhausted stupor on the third night.
Slowly, the new Lady of the House of Moon grows accustomed to sleeping alone.
o.o0o.o
As the days pass, Han Eul realises that her previous fears were utterly unfounded. Her husband would never lay a hand on her. He would never strike her, or hurt her.
He doesn't even touch her at all.
o.o0o.o
Days turn into weeks, weeks into months. As winter melts into spring, Han Eul gradually settles into her new life. When her daily household duties are done, she reads, embroiders, and takes long strolls in the extensive Moon gardens to admire the budding flowers. Her father-in-law is stern, but kind, and she is both relieved and saddened to find that she has no mother-in-law – tyrannical or otherwise – under whose thumb she would live out her days. Instead, it is the servants' malicious whispers that make her flinch, but Han Eul tries her hardest to ignore them as best she could.
'The young Lady has yet to produce an heir,' she overhears them say. '…Hardly surprising, when the young Lord never visits her.'
'Perhaps she's displeasing to him.'
'Perhaps he'll take a concubine.'
'Perhaps he already has a lover.'
Although self-doubt and anxiety bloom like the pale petals of the plum blossom tree she loves, Han Eul continues to spend her days in relative peace and tranquillity. She rarely sees her husband, and when she does, he is as much a stranger to her as he was three months earlier.
Han Eul forces herself to enjoy the solitude, refusing to admit that she is lonely.
o.o0o.o
On the last day of Spring, everything changes.
It is just after midday, and the house is quiet. Alone and confident of her solitude, Han Eul heads for the Moon family library, hoping to finish writing a few letters home before evening fell.
The last thing she expects is to see him there.
Her husband is sitting at the lone desk in the middle of the room, poring over an old scroll laid out before him. Although he is dressed presentably enough today, his wild hair is still rebelliously loose, and a few stray locks fall into his eyes when his head shoots up at Han Eul's sudden entrance.
He looks just as shocked to see her there.
For a long, awkward instant, the hapless pair can only blink owlishly at each other, until years of unforgiving etiquette training finally takes over, and Han Eul bows, hurriedly backing out.
"I'm—I'm sorry," she stammers out gracelessly, even as her panicked thoughts clamour for attention inside. When did he come back? Why was he here? He was never at home in the afternoon! "I didn't think you'd be—since you—I mean, that is to say—I'll… I'll go."
"No, stop!" he calls out suddenly, instantly halting her nervous retreat. There is an almost unsteady, hesitant quality to the brashly forceful tone. "Just—Just wait a moment."
Han Eul turns, expectant. This is the most he's ever said to her.
She watches, wide-eyed with surprise, as her husband pushes aside some books to make room for her at the aged gingko-wood desk.
Slowly, he swallows, his dark gaze flitting to hers before just as quickly flitting away.
"You—" he mutters lowly. "…You can stay."
o.o0o.o
Stay.
o.o0o.o
[Finis]