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"Don't you dare do this to me, Kwon Jin, you hear, I know you, I know all your shit, remember we're the same? I'm your Bonnie. I'm your girl. I'm yours, huh? I love you, Kwon Jin, you know that, right? I love you," she said, calming down and sliding to the ground and hanging up.

Songi Hi's stomach growled. She opened her fridge and ate everything in sight. She even ordered more food—Jjajangmyeon [noodles in a brown, almost black sauce, traditionally eaten on a black day. A day for people who are single but consumed all year round] Mcdonalds, pizzas, she ate, as if Gluttony possessed her.

It seemed she bared all the sins.

- Vainglory, even in this situation, Song Hi saw herself above the ordinary mortal.

- Lust, her desire for Kwon Jin was incommensurable.

- Greed for fame.

- Envy of Kwon Jin's wife.

- Pride, which stopped her from being honest, coming clean with the public, and begging for forgiveness.

- Wrath, she was angry at the public. How dare they judge her of all people? She was the nation's little flower. How could they trample on her?

Not at one moment, Song Hi wondered about her actions. Not once, she questioned herself on whether it was not her reaping what she had sowed.

No, they were the ones who were wrong; if she got a white vote, she would make them regret their betrayal.

Her apartment was a mess, the smell of the different dishes blending in the air made her want to vomit, and she did.

The young woman threw everything up.

Song Hi felt empty, the wrong kind of emptiness, the one you feel when your soul is wandering off.

It was 11 PM. She sat in front of her computer.

The chamber started, and there was the bitch.

Song Hi had to admit, black Moja was swag with her all-black attire and blood-red lipstick.

The black and white color of the video made it all look so dramatic, like Alfred Hitchcock's Twilight Zone.

Songi Hi wondered how the only thing in color on the videos was Moja's lips.

Black Moja began her speech; sometimes, she was behind a desk. Sometimes in the corner of the room, as if she was forbidden to leave it. She exposed the facts making the evidence appear by clicking her fingers as if it was a magic trick.

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Song Hi yelled, spitting on the screen of her computer.

People said Black Moja was never biased, but this chamber seemed one-sided.

Black Moja deliberately repeated the word trust. It was like a subliminal message. Song Hi could see the manipulation, but was there a real one, or was it her delusion.

Song Hi followed all the threads, logging in with different pseudos to defend herself.

People lynched her every time and trolled her.

Her body forced her to sleep at 5 AM.

When she woke up, 9 AM, her screen only showed one word, White.

She laughed ironically and looked around her apartment.

"What a mess," she exclaimed before slowly getting up to clean. Song Hi didn't want them to think she was dirty; she wouldn't give them that satisfaction.