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day 4: the koseki temple, 0347 hours.

at the dead of three in the morning, yerim sits in the middle of her guest room, wisps of magic floating around her as her kaleidoscopic orbs stare into the heather glass sphere of the crystal ball before her, mystical and ever intriguing. the incense that burns in the air of the room smells of sweet mango instead of the sunset apricot that fills the rest of the temple, and the difference in atmosphere helps yerim enter her element, allowing herself to relax as she dips her pale hands into the future.

besides the comfortable futon lying at a far end of the room, surrounded by curtains and nylon canopies, her quarters are well-furnished, as expected of a star child as artistic as jung hoseok. paintings of the ocean line the dark bamboo walls around her, and small candles are scattered all over the well-crafted mats made of screw pine. cherry blossoms litter the room in an ocean of pretty pink, and the fragrance mixes well with that of the mango-flavored incense.

the sliding doors at one end of the room open to reveal the crashing waves of the ocean before them, outlined by the gentle caress of the moon and her stars while strong winds tumble about, threatening to blow out the candle's flames inside.

the contrast between the peaceful interior of her room and the chaotic outside of nature's thunderous vigor is nothing short of beautiful to the appreciative yerim. lightning strikes, somewhere out and beyond and the thunder that follows resonates through the earth, turning into magic that soon flows through her veins.

yerim grasps on the crystal ball gently as the brilliant red strands of her hair slowly change into a piercing silver, matching well with the blinding moonlight from outside. her eyes are golden like the rays of sun that come from hoseok's succulent simpers, golden like the treasures that hide deep within the heart of her temple back in the forest.

(she misses her temple very dearly, yes. she could only pray that it is well-taken care of by the magic of the forest.)

on this dead hour, she is the sun and moon, an eclipse that blinds the darkness of the night, much like how his cheeky grins used to effectively snatch her shadows away.

a shame, for he is one of those shadows now, a different man entirely residing in the dark crevasse of her lightless soul. fate turned him into a stranger she doesn't know anymore, and she's only got the pesky weaver to blame.

yerim was never on good terms with seokjin, after all. just like how she makes his job as the weaver of fate more difficult, being a star child, he does everything in his power to tangle all her strings, always bringing her the most tragic of fates. it is their push and pull relationship, their baseless rivalry. it has been this way ever since the death of her first sister, and will continue that way as she continues living.

the crystal ball begins to glow as yerim's vision starts to blur, the gold rays in her eyes soon turning duller and hazier as she falls into a distant premonition, the violet magic wisps swimming around her being as her posture slumps.

she sits in the temple in the clouds with the weaver once again. the red string that appear during her last vision with him remains untouched, still the same as she saw it before.

the weaver glances at her from the corner of his eye, fingers playing around with a collection of white strings. fragile, she thinks to herself. she's seen him ruin lives more times than she could count.

"you'll surely hate me for what is to come in the future, fortune," the weaver says idly, tugging on one white string and snapping it. fate is cruel. she has learned this a long time ago, knowing him for so long.

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