The darkness gathered, shrouding the penthouse in a silken quiet, a respectful stillness that seemed less peace and more the calm following a great performance. The curtains had dropped on the city's glittering stage, the applause of the day's play faded away, and all that was left was the faint lingering echo of illusion.
Below it, a silence so deep in bone vibrated with truths yet to resurface. Seo-yeon, a face of calm composure, stood by her vanity, the rhythmic stroke of her brush through her hair a studied counterpoint to the aching quiet. It was not a reflex action... it was a composition.
