The weather was subtly beginning to change, compared to the heat from her land, there was a cooler tint in the air on this new one. She looked around, as a brown leaf, unburdened by the restraint of its branch, poetically fluttered through the air, it was whimsically in its dance, before making a gentle journey to the soil beneath the unfamiliar feet of a young woman.
Her eyes imbued with a trance, gradually followed its descent, observing as it swayed to the serene rhythm of a whispering breeze before settling at the edge of her delicately adorned sandals. She was amused, at that moment though her face showed no response.
As she lifted her gaze, the distant sun, an omnipotent spectator, bestowed upon the land a cascade of gleaming tendrils, weaving a collection of light and shadow upon the scenery.
Her nostrils were gently caressed by an amalgamation of unfamiliar scents—flowers whose names were lost on her lips, the subtle sweetness of unknown fruits, and a faint, persistent undertow of salt from the distant sea, all conspiring to enthrall and bemuse her senses. Her fingers delicately pinched the fabric of her vibrant gown, as if to ground herself it was the only other familiarity she currently had amidst a sea of disconcerting novelty.
While the sun's brilliance enticed her, she shielded her eyes with a gentle, poised hand, permitting only morsels of its brilliance to grace her eyes, enough to unravel the playful dance of light upon the emerald leaves and shimmering waters. An ethereal glow suffused through the verdant veins of the foliage overhead, casting an intricate lattice of shadows upon her path.
Her passage did not go unnoticed. Pairs of eyes, hidden behind layers of silk, peered towards the strange, enchanting being who graced their world with her presence, an unsolicited, yet oddly bewitching interloper.
Her journey from the ship to this foreign soil, illuminated now by the tender morning light, had been one of silent solitude, the collective gaze of the Joseon court the first to truly acknowledge her existence in this strange new world.
The evening of her arrival was marked by isolation, with not a single soul venturing forth to welcome the unfamiliar visitor from a distant land. It wasn't their fault; if anything, she had hoped she'd have some time to herself.
"I guess we are early, Miss Neeria," one of the shipmates remarked, glancing out.
She merely nodded in response. "Would you like to wait here?" they asked. "We could fetch some food for the evening. They should be here for you by morning."
"That would be nice," she replied with a smile. She made her way to a corner of the ship, took out a book, and began to read, silently waiting for the dawn.
However, after immersing herself in the tales from her book for what felt like hours, Neeria felt a subtle restlessness settling in. She needed to stretch her legs. "I think I'll take a quick walk," she announced, closing her book and setting it aside.
One of the shipmates, swiftly volunteered, "I'll accompany you, Miss Neeria."
With a nod of appreciation, she stepped onto the docks. The nocturnal market was alive with an array of colors, sounds, and scents. Vendors hawked their wares, ranging from shimmering fabrics to aromatic spices. Locals haggled, musicians played traditional tunes, and children darted about, laughing and playing.
Neeria's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she took in the sights. There were many items she didn't recognize, fruits of shapes and shades she had never seen, and handicrafts of intricate detail and design.
The shipmate, noticing her interest, pointed out a few items, sharing tidbits of information he'd picked up from previous voyages. "That's a rare fruit from the southern islands," he explained, pointing at a vibrant purple produce. "Very sweet and juicy.
He then guided her gaze to a stall illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. "And those lanterns there are said to be inspired by the moon's luminescence. Beautiful, aren't they?"
But as he rambled on about the beauty of the lanterns, Neeria's attention was diverted. Across the throngs of people, her eyes locked onto the intense gaze of a man. His features held an enigmatic allure, and for a brief moment, they held one another's gaze.
"Miss Neeria?" The shipmate's voice snapped her back to the present.
She blinked, tearing her gaze away from the stranger. "Ah, yes," she stammered slightly, "the lanterns... They're... captivating."
After a few more minutes of meandering, Neeria began to feel the weight of the day settle on her. A slight grimace tugged at her face as she shifted from one foot to another.
The shipmate, observant as ever, tilted his head with concern. "Everything okay?"
She gave a sheepish grin. "I might've been a tad ambitious with this stroll. My legs aren't quite as used to land yet, it seems."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. Shall we head back?"
"That sounds wonderful," she sighed in relief, grateful for his understanding.
As they ambled back to the ship, she turned to her companion. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft but sincere. "This was exactly what I needed."
He gave a humble nod, "Anytime, Miss Neeria." As they boarded the ship, the market's ambient noise faded, replaced by the gentle rocking of the vessel and the distant sound of waves.
Post dinner, Neeria felt a pull towards solitude. She gracefully picked up her book, her fingers brushing lightly over its spine, and made her way to her favorite spot on the deck. The moonlight painted silvery streaks across the ship's surface, making everything look ethereal.
It was there underneath the starlight gaze of the night, she extended her hands towards the stars as if picking them from the sky. Her hands absorbed the cool air, while her eyes were reflecting the distant glimmer, alone amidst the unspoken tales of adventures and sorrow whispered by the creaking of the ship beneath her.
The shippers, bound by a silent pact of sympathy and understanding, had permitted her a solitary night aboard the vessel, allowing the undulating waves to cradle her into a fitful slumber.
Her night transitioned to morning all too swiftly. It was then that the quiet was disrupted by the arrival of a court official, conveyed in a luxurious palanquin. The head woman, she presumed.
Surrounded by an ensemble of women, their eyes cast downward in practiced subservience, stood before her, there were six on one side in rows of two, while the same was done on another, except one of the women had no partner.
That spot must be for me... she thought to herself.
The women continued to look at her, the balance of attention and insignificance teetered precariously as their worlds collided in an unspoken agreement of clash and reluctant acceptance.
Her name, a melody of her homeland, remained yet unspoken by her, they heard about her.
She was all the court woman spoke about for weeks prior. Still, now seeing her in person curiosity suspended in the unfamiliar air, complimented by the same rustling leaves and the gentle lapping of distant waves from the day prior.
In an orchestrated silence, the court women beheld her with awe and reservation, their gazes unwavering yet fraught with unspoken conjecture. There, amid the contrasting hues of their traditional hanboks — a vivid collection of cerulean, jade, and amethyst, signifying their respective stations and roles within the Joseon court — she stood. She had a sense of royalty about her stature, the way she stood and how she posed, still all she did was bow her head, there wasn't much she said.
An older woman smiled in her direction, her face textured with years spent beneath the weight of strict tradition and stoic responsibility, stepped forth.
Her hanbok was a reserved palette of muted taupe and ivory. It was evident she witnessed many things, as even her aura carried whispered tales of countless moons witnessed and storms weathered within the stringent bounds of the palace walls. With a hand, gnarled yet steady, she gestured forward.
Within the palanquin, enshrouded by richly adorned panels, sat another woman, her status communicated through the delicate embroidery of her attire and the quiet deference afforded to her by those present. Her eyes, obscured partially by a gently arched fan, peered toward the newcomer with an enigmatic blend of scrutiny and fascination.
"How fascinating that there are humans of her shade in the world," the lady voiced from the palanquin.
One of the young women in the row nearby caught the comment and stifled a chuckle.
The young woman's soft chuckle was short-lived as some women around her shot her glances. They then redirected their attention to the foreigner who stood apart, so different and yet so compelling.
It wasn't out of offense, or at least not meant as such. It was just... confusing.
In Joseon, there was a deeply rooted understanding of beauty. The woman before them didn't quite align with it, but she was undeniably... breathtaking.
Beauty in Joseon was defined by the esteemed criteria of sambaek, samheuk, and samhong. Sambaek, 'the three whites,' prized the whiteness of the skin, teeth, and the whites of the eyes. Samheuk, 'the three blacks,' valued the darkness of pupils, eyebrows, and hair. And samhong, 'the three reds,' championed the redness of cheeks, lips, and the hue of fingernails.
These were the guiding principles of beauty that, until now at least, remained unchallenged in their realm. Yet she did so effortlessly...just by existing.
She represented a type of beauty they hadn't seen before, effortlessly challenging their established norms in a manner that was both perplexing and inadvertently enchanting.
Her skin, a rich melody of darkened umber and lathered honey, rendered the esteemed sambaek partially unmet, yet the sheer luminosity of her complexion, eyes, and teeth illuminated her visage with an undeniable allure.
The ink-black depth of her pupils and the silken cascade of her hair bestowed upon her effortless compliance with samheuk, each strand whispering of mysteries and adventures far beyond their sheltered existence.
And as for samhong, her lips, a gentle bloom of subtle crimson, and nails of an understated, natural hue, forged an exception they found, despite themselves, willing to entertain.
In the gently quivering silence that ensued, a tacit understanding flickered tentatively between them — an acknowledgment that while she did not adhere to the strict doctrines of their aesthetic norms, her beauty was nonetheless undeniable, carving out a space for itself amidst the sacred and immutable.
The court women's thoughts continued to wander, admiring the manifestation of elegance before them.
She was draped in the rich textures and vibrant hues of her homeland. The gentleness of her face shape subtly echoed the beauty of yeonji, though she lacked the customary application of rouge blush on her cheeks and lips common amongst the court women.
Her skin, glistened as if an unblemished canvas kissed gently by the sun, aligned with the idolization of flawless skin, which held its own spellbinding charm.
As they observed her, she shifted from her introspective stance, bending into a bow. The fabric of her African dress flowed like a gentle waterfall of splendor.
She bowed again, a symbol of respect and quiet humility, her actions bridging the awkwardness between them.
The elderly woman that was before her, smiled in acknowledgment.
"We kept you waiting, didn't we?" she said, more to herself than to the silent figure before her. With hands marked by both tenderness and time, she draped a hanbok jacket over the newcomer's shoulders, an unspoken gesture of acceptance, its fabric caressing her in a soft embrace.
The woman from afar met this with a soft smile, an ephemeral blossom that existed somewhere between gratitude and melancholy, yet she offered no words, merely absorbing the colors, scents, and unspoken sentiments that swirled around her.
As she found her place in line, adjacent to a singular young woman whose eyes flickered with a quiet, cautious curiosity, a cautious smile was exchanged, much like a tentative bridge across a river of uncertainty.
The others, still enrobed in a subtle disquiet, gradually progressed forward, their movements a synchronized dance of hesitancy and formality, punctuated by the delicate rustling of silk against the stone pathway as they began their journey back towards the palace.
For a moment, even the birds, those timeless observers of human plight and passage, seemed to pause, their melodies hanging, suspended in the crisp morning air.
The foreigner however was still silent in thought. An occasional smile came her way from the woman in the palanquin. The silence was momentarily paused, as the young woman behind her softly tapped her shoulder.
" Do you speak this dialect?" She asked staring at the young woman. Maybe it was the tone in which she was asked, but she received no response.
The foreigner amongst them never once turned towards the side, rather she remained looking ahead as she walked alongside the palanquin. The wind teased the end of her Afro twists.
She was silent, the off-white pearled contour of her texture dress seemed to elegantly contrast the deep bronzed golden brown of her skin. Her Cupid's bow was just as simply alluring, sitting above the elegance that was her lips.
" Did you hear me? Are you deaf?" She was asked again. Still, she continued to walk. The woman who sat in the palanquin only chuckled at the interaction to herself.
The other maiden scoffed and shook her head.
"What's the point of bringing someone like her here? Is Joseon out of women? Why are they getting women from other countries?" She asked the maiden that walked right beside Neeria.
As the walking partner looked to the left-hand side to witness the young woman, Neeria was still rather focused on her walk. She then turned to the two others behind them who wouldn't stop talking.
" She's been sent from a foreign king, be respectful." She stated.
" Why do you think you're better than us because you're walking alongside her?" They scoffed. The young woman continued looking forward.
She turned to Neeria. " Um... Neeria...don't worry about them. They are just being mean."
The young woman simply smiled as if she had no compression of what was said.
" Why is she more special than any of us?" One of the other women said to themselves.
Maybe it was due to what they thought was rudeness, or something else. The truth was, Neeria was a breath of fresh air to gaze eyes upon. Her skin was noticeably smooth, and bronzed, her hair twisted into long thick two two-string braids, like in a spiral with her coily hair as it ended just above her waist. She was silent in her approach much like the other women she was there to be of the palace. Nothing more.
As they proceeded along the streets of Joseon, the curious gazes of the guards followed the young woman's every step, much like many did on the way there.
Upon entering the palace grounds, they were led towards a formal presentation area. An older woman, stood there to receive them. Her eyes focused on the young woman, and she greeted her with a warm smile.
"I heard, your journey was long, wasn't it?" the older woman inquired kindly. The young woman returned the smile, her demeanor poised and humble.
"I'm simply grateful to be welcomed into the home of Joseon," she replied with sincerity, gracefully bowing her head in acknowledgment of the honor bestowed upon her.
The older woman nodded approvingly, her smile deepening. "We are honored to have you," she replied, before gesturing to dismiss the attendants and courtiers, leaving the two women alone in a moment of quiet.
"I'm Lady Jinsun," she reintroduced herself for emphasis. "If you need anything, let me know."
The young woman nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Lady Jinsun. Your kindness is deeply appreciated."
" We will speak later, you must want to rest." Neeira nodded.
Following Lady Jinsun's gesture, the young woman slowly began her exit. Her steps were graceful, and measured; every movement carried with it a certain elegance and poise that held the room's attention.
As the others retreated, a hushed silence enveloped them, and a sense of bewilderment surrounded them.
The women who had accompanied the young arrival exchanged perplexed glances. As their thoughts told them the young woman must have understood their insults and derogatory remarks during the journey here.
As they walked further into the palace grounds, the young woman by Neeria's side couldn't contain her admiration. The younger court lady's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Twenty," Neeria, replied.
"So, you're unnie," the court lady said with a clap of her hands. "I'm a year younger."
Neeria chuckled lightly. "I guess that makes me your unnie, then."
"Unnie, you're so cool!" she exclaimed, her eyes filled with genuine awe.
Neeria's lips curved into a warm smile, her confidence was evident. She responded with a touch of playful humility, "I am, aren't I?" Her demeanor exuded a natural grace that drew others to her, and even in moments of lightheartedness, she remained a woman of poise, effortlessly captivating those around her.
Once they arrived at their housing lodges, Neeria gracefully surveyed her surroundings. She didn't bring much with her, as most of her belongings had already been sent ahead.
Neeria's fingers, a soft cascade of gentle exploration, continued their journey along the perimeters of her new dwelling, momentarily pausing to experience the subtle, woven patterns beneath their touch.
The simple furnishings, the straw mat, the modest room itself—it wasn't comparable to the luxuries of her homeland, but it certainly wasn't devoid of comfort.
As she stood there, her worries momentarily suppressed, a soft shadow fell near her door.
As the shadow curled itself gently around her door, her movement towards it was unhurried.
With a gentle creak, she opened it and found her walking partner waiting outside.
"How do you like your room?" the young woman inquired, her own posture slightly leaning forward, embodying a genuine, if somewhat cautious, curiosity.
Neeria responded with a serene smile, a slow blooming one that cradled a silent profundity, her shoulders gently rolling back in a soft exhale, an ephemeral surrender to a transient peace. Her mysterious aura remained intact.
Before she could answer, a few of the women from their earlier journey approached the door.
"You know, it was rude what you did." They began.
" Which was?" Neeria asked.
" That you did not respond earlier when we were speaking to you. Were you planning on embarrassing us?" one of them questioned.
With an elegant elevation of an eyebrow and a gentle tilting of her head, Neeria allowed a measured silence to linger momentarily before responding.
Her words, as they floated towards the women, were wrapped in an unassailable calm, "Am I obligated to respond to insults? After all, I didn't wish to spoil the delight you seemed to find in speaking ill of me."
Her words carried a subtle hint of amusement. Her hands seemed to mock them further as they lightly folded together, betraying not a flicker of trepidation, but rather, symbolizing a self-contained equilibrium, offering a silent, though formidable, counterpart to her spoken words. leaving her fellow court ladies momentarily disarmed in the presence of her grace.
As they stood near her door, the confrontation hung like a delicate thread. Neeria's posture remained poised, her body language flowing with the same grace that characterized her every move.
She gently tilted her head to one side, a subtle sign of curiosity, her dark eyes holding a glint. Neeria's gentle yet firm refusal to entertain their abrasive encounters was displayed in such a silent but clear order.
Her fingers that previously rested gracefully at her side were raised to brush a lock of her twisted hair behind her ear. It was a small movement, yet it held a hint of elegance as if acknowledging her otherworldly beauty without flaunting it.
The women who had questioned her found themselves momentarily taken aback as if her subtle but deliberate actions had stolen their words.
They exchanged uncertain glances, unsure of how to respond to this enigmatic foreigner who carried herself with such effortless poise.
Her eyes remained locked with theirs as if they contained an ocean of challenge. It was as if she dared them to either dive into their depths or retreat to the safety of familiar shores. As dramatic as it might sound, Neeria relished the encounter. Although they believed they had chosen her to pester, it was she who had selected them. To play with their discomfort and confusion.
One woman, her fingers nervously twirling a strand of her elaborately styled hair, shifted uneasily on her feet. Her voice, now notably softer, tentatively navigated the chasm Neeria's words had opened.
We originally wanted to ask if you were familiar with our customs and language. It was you who was dismissive at first. We were simply trying to help. You must understand that while you're here, you are bound by our ways. We were being kind," she said, her eyes now avoiding Neeria's gaze.
Neeria, stood unmoving, allowed her words to sit, then gracefully maneuvered her body, ever so slightly, towards them, the fabrics of her attire whispering subtly in accordance with her movements, she responded, "And just as I am now bound by your ways, you are bound by my presence – one that does not waver in the face of condescension. I ignored you because I saw the way you looked at me when I first arrived. Why would I pretend we could be friends?"
The woman who had first offered kindness now shuffled forward, her hanbok rustling softly against the straw flooring.
Her hands delicately intertwined in front of her, and her eyes, warm yet cautious, met Neeria's. "Let's not argue on our first day here," she suggested, as her eyes flicked briefly toward the other women, inviting peace without demanding it.
Neeria's eyes met hers, and with a gentle tilt of her head, she acknowledged the bridge being offered. "That would be best," she agreed, her voice a delicate blend of warmth and affirmation.
A sound of reluctant acquiescence fluttered through the group. The previously aggressive woman nodded hesitantly, her eyes averted from Neeria's steadiness, and retreated.
Her steps were delicate, each one a cautious withdrawal, and her hands, which were previously clenched in anticipatory defiance, now hung limply at her sides.
Conversely, her companion's eyes scanning Neeria's composed back, seemed to wrestle internally with the unfamiliar dynamic unfolding before her.
It was almost as if she was still trying to etch into Neeria's unshaken demeanor. Her brow furrowed, teeth lightly grazing her lower lip as she seemed to waver between further confrontation and withdrawal.
" We will leave you to unpack." She finally said.
Neeria, however, was already engaged in a gentle exploration of her belongings, her fingers lightly dancing over the fabrics and tokens of her homeland, briefly paused. "You were still here? Very well then. Have a great day." Her words, delivered with an airy cadence, held neither dismissal nor invitation.
As the door slid shut with a gentle whisper, Neeria turned towards her earlier companion, her eyes momentarily revealing the flicker of a weary spirit.
Her previously steady hands, now ever so slightly trembled as she began to unpack.
"Unnie, are you okay?" The softness in the young woman's voice draped tenderly around Neeria's shoulders.
Neeria allowed a gentle smile to ascend upon her lips, her fingers momentarily ceasing their exploration of her belongings. "Of course," she spoke, her voice a delicate tone, painting serenity across her features as she cradled a small, golden ornament in her hands. "I'm simply tired from the long trip."
Understanding lit the young woman's eyes, her body subtly leaning toward Neeria as she nodded, the folds of her hanbok whispering softly with the motion. "Ah, I see. I would be too."
The quietude of the room cradled their exchange, nurturing the delicate tendrils of their mannerism. After a moment, the young woman's eyes, locked onto Neeria.
"So unnie," she gently ventured further, her hands lightly clasping together in a tentative embrace, "I was wondering, where are you from? I've never seen someone like you before. You're so beautiful. Why would your country want to send you away?"
Neeria's hands paused, the ornament now resting securely back amidst her belongings, and she tilted her head slightly, a playful scoff escaping her lips. Her eyes, glowing with a quiet pride, met the gaze of her companion.
"My people are called Eweh," she began, her voice a velvety sound, fingers idly toying with a strand of her hair, "And I cannot take all the credit—most of the women of my people are quite gorgeous."
The young woman's eyes sparkled with a genuine, unshielded admiration as she softly, almost reverently, replied, "Then you must be the prettiest." Her hands, previously entwined in front of her, relaxed, revealing an unguarded openness as she bestowed upon Neeria an earnest smile.
"Am I?" Neeria asked.
"Unnie... if I looked like you, I think I'd act the same way you do," she responded.
Neeria tilted her head, her lips curving into a playful smile. "Oh? And how do you think I act?"
The young woman began walking gracefully, pausing after a few steps to turn around. "Ah, you're still here? Well, have a good day," she said, mimicking Neeria's mannerisms.
Shaking her head in amusement, Neeria looked at the young woman. " You're going to make this place a lot more worthwhile." She chuckled. Momentarily pausing the mysteriousness of herself.
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