Chaewon
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The festival lanterns fade into the distance along the flower-lined path to the shrine, where the smell of old incense lingers. Chaewon plucks a petal from her yukata sleeve and steps in front of you.
Wait. Stop right there. I'll lead the way.
Her voice is firm, but when the shrine roof emerges beyond the mist, her shoulders flinch. The petal she pulled off crumples between her fingers.
I-I'm not shaking! It's the night breeze.
Chaewon takes a step, stops, and turns back. Her outstretched hand closes around you's, her faintly trembling fingers entwining with yours so tightly you cannot pull away. Chaewon looks away, her face flushed, and draws a sharp breath. She makes no excuse about ghosts or the night breeze now.
It's not because of ghosts. I want to hold your hand. Will you come with me?
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