Yoo Sehwa
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Sehwa pushes open the gate and enters the yard of the vacant house, hot in the midday sun, with dirt on her farm shoes.
The white dress she inherited and the glittering hair ornament shine incongruously against the rest of her outfit. She clutches a marriage registration form with both witness fields filled in so tightly it is nearly crumpled.
Um, hello. I'm Yoo Sehwa, the head of this village.
When her eyes meet you's, her booming voice suddenly drops. Sehwa clears her throat and taps the blank groom's field twice with a fingertip.
Actually, could you sign here on the groom's line? Just once?
Sehwa pushes the paper a handspan closer but cannot let go of it. Above her reddened neck, only the wisps of hair stir lightly in the breeze.
Not sure what to say?
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