Chapter Text
Kim Dokja had spent most of his life taking care of himself. His mother had passed away when he was too young to remember her, and his father had succumbed to alcohol poisoning during Kim Dokja’s early teen years. Unlike with his mother, he did not mourn his father’s absence. He didn't miss the bruises that accompanied his father’s foul temper.
From a young age, Kim Dokja tended to the small farm left to him on the outskirts of town. Alone, with no one to help and no money to hire assistance, he could only accomplish so much. Yet, he managed to grow enough to sell in town, with the little that remained serving as his meals. On some days, he could afford a few eggs or even a bit of meat if he was lucky.
With little else to occupy his time and no one to talk to, Kim Dokja turned to the worlds found within the pages of books. Every evening, after finishing his daily chores, he would read for as long as his weary body would allow.
He devoured any genre he could get his hands on: adventure, fantasy, horror, romance—anything the small village library had available.
He had read so many books that the kind librarian, Yoo Sangah, had recently informed him he had exhausted the library’s collection of fiction. Sheepishly, she promised to let him know when new fiction titles were available and offered him a nonfiction book on flora and fauna in the meantime.
Though he couldn't pretend to be particularly excited about this new book, his reading habit was so deeply ingrained in him that he couldn’t resist settling under his covers with it in hand. The chilly weather was perfect for reading in bed and he didn’t know what else he could do to pass the time, so this would have to do for now.
The book was beautifully illustrated, showcasing the plants and animals described in its passages. As he turned the well-worn pages, a flower he had never seen before caught his eye: a rose. He had read about them in countless novels but had never seen one in person with his own eyes. He lamented that the ink drawings—though beautiful—had no color, as he wished he could see the vibrant hues of roses described in the text.
The next day, he sought out Yoo Sangah, the only person in the village with whom he spoke more than just in passing, even if they were just brief conversations while he went to pick up or return the books he borrowed from the library. He knew she traveled around to find more books for the library and wondered if she would know where to find a rose.
However, upon arriving at the library, he found it closed, with a sign indicating that the librarian was away on a trip.
As he turned to leave, Kim Dokja noticed a flower stall and wondered if the vendor might be able to help. But as the vendor turned around, he was met with Song Minwoo's face.
Years earlier in his youth, Song Minwoo had pushed him while he was crossing a bridge as he carried produce into town. Kim Dokja had been okay, with only a few bruises on his legs and the side of his arm where he’d landed without his hands to catch his fall, but most of what he'd grown had fallen into the river. Song Minwoo had run away laughing. That week Kim Dokja had suffered hunger pains and weakness so severe he’d fallen ill.
Even now as an adult, Kim Dokja was hesitant to talk to him. He approached him anyway.
“Excuse me, do you know where I might find a rose?”
“Why?” Song Minwoo scoffed. “Are you thinking of stealing my business?”
“I was only curious… forget I asked…” he said and began walking away, he hadn’t expected him to help anyway.
“Wait!” Song Minwoo called after him. Against his better judgment, Kim Dokja turned back and found that Song Minwoo looked like he was thinking something over. “You’ll find them growing wild along the walls of the ruins of the old castle by the mountain.”
“Which mountain?”
Song Minwoo sighed and pointed, as if raising his finger to point in the distance required great effort.
Kim Dokja felt a surge of delight. The mountain he pointed at didn’t seem far at all.
“Thank you.” Kim Dokja pulled out the little money he had to buy a flower for his trouble.
The next morning, Kim Dokja set out on his quest for a rose. He didn’t have a horse to take him there, but since the mountain was in view, he felt confident he could reach it on foot. He packed a bag with food, water, and anything else necessary for a long hike.
A few hours into the journey, Kim Dokja began to realize he may have underestimated the distance. He had never embarked on such a long trip before and perhaps had overestimated his stamina and leg strength. Though he was not entirely weak—having grown accustomed to manual labor on the farm—his poor diet had left him without much muscle.
Eventually, fatigue overcame him, and he decided to set up camp by the side of the road, grateful he had brought something to sleep in just in case.
He was awakened several hours later by a cold sensation on his face and realized that a light snow had fallen during his sleep. He hadn’t anticipated snow today. Thankfully, not much had accumulated, and it had stopped by now. Still, he considered returning home to avoid being caught in a heavier snowfall.
However, he was now much closer to the mountain than to his house, and the sun was beginning to set. He decided it would be safer to reach the ruins and find a place to rest there. He knew how to start a fire and had the means to do so, so if he could find a sheltered spot among the ruins, he could make a fire and wait for a warmer time to hike back.
He arrived at the base of the mountain just as the sun had set, where a long set of stairs led up to a grand and elegant palace surrounded by walls of stone. It seemed far too well-preserved to be considered “ruins.”
As he forced his tired legs to climb the steep steps he couldn’t take his eyes away from such a magnificent sight. Beyond those stone walls stood an ancient castle, its spires reaching toward the heavens like fingers grasping for the moon. Vines snaked up the stones, and snow from earlier blanketed the ground, giving the place an enchanting, albeit eerie, quality. Kim Dokja couldn’t help but think of the ghosts that haunted places like this in the horror novels he read, and he shivered.
Approaching the grand entrance, he noticed the absence of roses growing along the walls, and Kim Dokja felt a pang of disappointment for having listened to Song Minwoo. Nevertheless, he was intrigued by the castle and felt compelled to explore it, especially as darkness settled in and snow began to fall again. Staying in a potentially ghost-ridden castle was preferable to freezing to death in the snow.
The gate wasn’t closed, so he slipped inside and marveled at how beautiful the castle looked without the walls blocking the view.
He found himself wandering into the palace garden, where he was greeted by rows upon rows of rose bushes. Each row was adorned with blossoms in every color he had seen listed in his book. He lamented that he hadn’t arrived earlier to see them under the sun’s light. Even so, they were all beautiful.
But it was the roses painted in red that captivated him the most. Under the moonlight, their dark crimson hue made them look as rich as the color of blood.
The trip had not been a waste of time after all, and as he walked around to gaze at the flowers, an idea struck him: if he took a few of these home, he could press them and dry them in his books to make bookmarks.
He couldn’t carry many, so he decided to take a handful of the red roses as they were his favorite.
However, just as he reached to take the first rose, a strong grip wrapped around his wrist. Panic surged through him, and he screamed, the rose slipping from his grasp and falling to the ground.
“Surely you have been warned of the monster that lives in the mountains,” a deep voice rumbled, sending shivers down his spine. “And yet you come here to steal a rose from my garden. Are you trying to tempt me?”
Kim Dokja hadn’t even noticed someone else approach him, and when he turned to look at the man whose hand had captured him, he was startled to find golden eyes—too bright and unnatural to belong to a human—looking down at him. The man’s features were sharp, his gaze piercing, and for a moment, Kim Dokja found himself staring.
The man spun Kim Dokja around by his wrist, pressing him against his chest and breaking him out of his daze.
“I-I didn’t know about any monster,” Kim Dokja stammered, struggling and failing to yank himself from the man’s grasp. “I only came to see the roses. I’m sorry.”
The man did not budge, no matter how much Kim Dokja struggled. Kim Dokja knew he wasn’t particularly strong, but this man felt as immovable as stone, his strength beyond human. The other looked at him for a while, and his eyes glinted as they passed over Kim Dokja’s face, almost as if he had just thought of something. Under his gaze, Kim Dokja felt like a rabbit caught in a trap.
“I will forgive you,” he said, leaning in to let his breath ghost along the skin of Kim Dokja’s throat, “if you let me drink from your neck.”
Kim Dokja was taken aback and wrenched back forcefully, attempting to distance himself from the man’s face.
He had heard villagers whisper of monsters in the woods, but he had never believed their stories to be true, thinking such creatures were reserved for the pages of horror novels. Perhaps he should have taken those tales as cautionary rather than mere entertainment.
The man did not pull him back toward him but also did not let him go, giving Kim Dokja a moment to think.
“Will it kill me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“If you hold still, I will only take enough to sate my taste.”
“And you’ll let me go?”
“Of course.”
Kim Dokja had no reason to trust him, but with no other choice, he relented.
“A-alright.”
The man leaned closer, using the hand that wasn’t gripping Kim Dokja’s wrist to move aside the collar of his shirt. Kim Dokja barely had a moment to prepare before sharp teeth sank into his neck.
He gasped, instinctively bringing his hands up to grasp at the man’s cloak, but then remembered he was supposed to hold still and went rigid. Though the initial piercing of his flesh was painful, the sensation was soon replaced with something else. A wave of heat washed over him, pooling in his lower belly, making it difficult to fight the instinct to squirm.
When the man withdrew, he ran his tongue over the wounds, catching the blood that had spilled when he pulled out his fangs. A shiver cascaded down Kim Dokja’s spine at the sensation.
“Good boy. You followed my orders. I keep my promises, so I’ll allow you to live.”
A sudden wave of fatigue washed over Kim Dokja, and he swayed, his gaze drifting to the snow below. Drops of scarlet blood fell from his neck, landing on the pristine white surface, melting the frost where they landed and staining the snow a deep crimson.
“I’ll be going then,” he mumbled. But instead of taking a step back as he intended, he collapsed. The last thing he registered was strong arms wrapping around him, stopping his fall before his vision faded to black.