Was every stone a wish? Or was the wish the core of the act, ever-present in every movement, in every little step, stone after stone, a smile on the lips and love in the heart of the mothers who prayed for their children?
Wang So hated it all. Hated the mothers, their wishes, and the blood that dripped from him. Hated, above all, himself, the things he had gone through, the things he had done and all the things he would still do. There was death in him, death that followed. Death that would always follow. Her words ringed in his ear, loud, repeating themselves over and over and over in deafening cacophony. You're like an animal. You make my skin crawl.
Animals suffered too, he knew. He had killed them before, had witnessed the pain in their eyes. Why couldn't his mother see his? She could barely look at him. You are my shame, disgrace and flaw. He could feel himself trembling with every repressed cry in his body. How unfitting for a prince, how very fitting for a lowly replacement for a dead son.
Even the stones matched and amounted to something. Carefully arranged, neatly, by fragile hands which could only pray. But his mother had blood in hers and he was glad for it. Glad that no matter how high she would be, she was drenched in blood, blood of her own making and blood of his making. He laughed to himself at the idea but it was quickly replaced by another, a different one that was even more painful than his wound. An idea, a concept so fragile. Just one hand, taking his.
It all battled inside of him. Every lie he told himself, every stone and every feeling, they all mocked him and his foolish ambitions and with a cry he lashed out. If he were to be an animal, so be it. If he were to become death, so be it. He thrashed around and it all came down. He crumbled down, a mosaic of horror and memories.
He feels hands pulling him back. Weak hands, hands he could so easily overpower, he had overpowered wolves and assassins, what force could possibly hold him back? He laughs at her shock, at her sheltered life and at everything she meant. He curses her beliefs and her prayers, curses and curses, everything pours out like merciless rain. He knows he's crying, knows how pathetic it all is, but he can't stop once he's started, it's not right, nothing is right.
He doesn't expect her to talk to him. Doesn't expect her concern.
Was it concern? In her eyes? He doesn't know this girl, this foolish girl who knew nothing about what life he led. This foolish girl who wasn't recoiling, go, you must go, I could kill you with a single movement, she's looking straight into his eyes and she's speaking. She speaks as though she knows, but she really doesn't, probably never will, can't understand what he went through in Shinju or every hateful word he's ever heard.
But he was wrong. There's a force in her. There's a force in her eyes, and even in her tears. It's not a crime to want to live, she repeats herself, as though to emphasize, to show her own truth. He doesn't know if it's because it's all he ever wanted to hear or if the words themselves carry a weight that robs him of his strength. Worst of all, he believes her, helplessly believes her every word. She leaves and he's left with the aftermath, the destruction he once again brought. There are new words ringing in his ears now, I understand you. He falls to his knees and wants to yell that she doesn't but can't. Her words are like water to a dying man, and what was he, if not a dying man? A grim reaper who only promised death. But this water doesn't taste so bitter.
It doesn't taste bitter at all.
She lingers in his presence and he doesn't understand why. She's so awfully unfit for anything remotely courteous, banal tasks, like she can be wise beyond her years but so immature at the same time, but he can't look away. Even if he tries, it's like she's always there. Go, you must go. She never does. He discovers openings he never knew he had; she forces through them all, effortlessly. He doesn't understand, her, himself. Finds himself reaching out for her.
He can't look away when he sees it in her eyes, that force. When she faces Yeon Hwa like a warrior. She doesn't cry out when she's hit, this woman who doesn't run away from him. This woman who can relate to him. She once asked about his wounds and he can't watch as she's wounded, he takes a bold step, he intervenes. You can't take her away from me is a thought that consumes him. No, not until he has figured her out. Put the stones of her behavior in their correct places.
When she tells him she's not afraid of him anymore, he wonders if it's about that night. Wonders what it is that she saw in him. He only knows what he sees in her. A spirit that is not tempered down by palace etiquette. She's like a female wolf who fights for herself, who fights back. Even if she's so small that he has to bend down to lock eyes with her — the only time she looks away —, this is who she is. He thinks, anyway. He's never really known anyone or anything other than his own expectations and she exceeds them by miles.
It will still be a long time until he has figured it all out, this girl, these feelings, the path it all leads to. It'll still be some time until he hears that she doesn't feel alone when he's around, which meets so perfectly with what he feels that he doesn't know how to react. Doesn't know why it hurts in ways that had never hurt before.
At this moment, just at this moment, when he puts stone upon stone to make up for the wishes he threw away, he only knows that he likes it best when she smiles, and the way that she never leaves.
What did you wish for?
It almost makes everything okay.
Love. It was love.