Chapter Text
The ascent to the old Kim house’s attic was a slow one. The floorboards groaned underfoot with each step, the wood seeming to complain under the weight of a sorrow that had seeped into Minji’s very bones. Pushing the door open, she paused on the threshold, the sheer force of her grief threatening to crush her right where she stood.
This had always been their sanctuary, the heart of her aunts’ magic. A chaotic, wonderful collection of their lives: spellbooks with cracked leather spines stacked in precarious towers, bundles of dried herbs hanging from the rafters releasing faint, ghostly scents, and countless unlabeled jars filled with shimmering dust and dark, viscous liquids. Moonlight spilled through the large casement window, bathing the clutter in a spectral glow that made the dust motes dance like tiny fairies. The thought that she would never again find them here, one bent over a bubbling cauldron and the other poring over an ancient text, was an impossibility her heart refused to accept.
Her gaze drifted, catching on a familiar spine wedged between two larger tomes. It was the first book her aunts had ever read to her and her sisters, the day they first arrived at this house as lost, frightened children. She pulled it from the shelf, the worn cover cool beneath her fingers. Inside, the ink was faded, the words handwritten in an elegant, looping script. As her eyes scanned the page, the words echoed in her mind, not in her own voice, but in theirs, one warm and melodic, the other raspy and full of mischief. The memory was so visceral, so achingly alive, that for a moment the attic’s scent of dust and dried lavender was replaced by the sweet perfume of spring blossoms, and she could feel the lazy warmth of a long-ago sun on her face.
The two women, one tall and willowy, the other short and round as a garden gnome, were setting teacups on the small garden table as the three little girls made a direct line for the sweets.
“For more than two hundred years,” the tall one began, her voice smooth as honey, “we Kims have been blamed for every misfortune in this town.”
“Is that why people hate us so much, Auntie?”
The shorter one chuckled, a sound like rattling teacups. “They don't hate us, darling. We just make them a little… nervous.”
“Let’s face it,” the first aunt countered, “the Kims have always given them something to talk about. It all started with our ancestor, Maria. She was a witch, the first of our line, and you, my dears, are the latest in a long and distinguished heritage.”
“That’s why they wanted to hang her, because she was a witch. Well,” the second aunt amended with a glint in her eye, “the fact that our dear relative was a heartbreaker didn't help much, nor did the fact that the wives of most of her lovers were on the jury that convicted her. But no, I don't think those were the reasons.”
“They feared her because she possessed a gift, a power that you girls have inherited. She possessed the gift of magic. And it was that very gift that saved her life. She escaped the gallows with a neat little trick, but though she got away, she was banished to this small island, with her child still growing in her womb. She waited for her love to rescue her, but he never came. No one ever came. In a moment of desperation, she cast a spell upon herself, that she would never again feel the agony of love. But her bitterness grew, and the spell soured into a curse. A curse on anyone who would dare to love a Kim.”
“So… Dad died because of that? Because of the curse?”
The tall aunt’s expression softened. “Yes, my sweet girl. Your mother knew. That day, she heard the deathwatch beetle ticking your father’s time away. She knew that when you hear the beetle’s song, the one you love is doomed to die.”
“And that is how you came to live with us. We took you into our lives and have raised you as best we knew how.”
“So when you find yourselves the center of attention,” the second aunt chirped, “it’s not that they hate you. It’s that, well… you’re different.”
“Girls, the only real curse in this family is sitting right across the table from you. Your aunt.”
“Oh, come now! You have to admit that anyone who falls in love with a Kim will hopelessly end up six feet under.”
“Nonsense.”
“And what about my poor Klaus?”
“That was an accident.”
“It was fate.”
“It was an accident.”
“No, no, it was fate!”
A sigh, heavy and fragile, escaped Minji’s lips, pulling her back to the cold, silent attic. She blinked, forcing the memory away, and tried to focus on her purpose for being up here. One of her aunts had always worn an exquisite shawl, a masterpiece of silk where vividly colored flowers bloomed in intricate patterns against a black backdrop as deep as a moonless night. Minji knew her aunt would want to be buried in it. The woman had spun a dozen different, wild tales of how she’d acquired it, never telling the same story twice. That secret, like so many others, would now remain a mystery forever, just as she’d always intended.
She found it draped over the rocking chair where her aunt used to crochet for hours. The fabric was just as soft as she remembered. On impulse, she lifted it. As the silk settled over her shoulders, it was more than just warmth she felt. It was an embrace. The distinct, comforting presence of her aunt, wrapping around her, soothing the sharp edges of her sorrow as if she were standing right there with her.
A single tear traced a path down her cheek. She knew then that it wasn't her imagination. In some way, her aunt was here. And then another feeling pushed through the grief, a quiet surge of joy and gratitude, the kind one feels when given a precious gift. At that moment, she understood. The shawl was hers now.
The creak of the attic door pulled her from the moment, and she quickly wiped her cheek, trying to pull her composure back around her like a shield. Even in the pale light, her sister’s fiery orange hair was a beacon.
“Her flight was supposed to land hours ago,” Handong said, her voice tight with worry. “I’m starting to get concerned. She should be here by now.”
“Maybe she stopped in the village…” Minji offered weakly.
“You know she hates every single person who lives in this town. I highly doubt she’s making small talk on the way.”
Minji nodded, a hollow feeling in her stomach telling her Handong was right. This was strange.
“I’ll try calling her again.” For the first time, Handong’s gaze lifted from her phone, her eyes softening as she truly looked at her sister, taking in the dark silk and bright flowers draped around her. “It suits you.”
Minji offered a small, sad smile in return, watching her sister disappear back down the stairs, leaving her alone once more with the ghosts of the past and the anxieties of the present.