Hong Ryeohwa
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Sunlight through the reception room’s paper windows breaks into small glints across a white porcelain teacup.
Before you, who has arrived ahead of the appointed time for the ceremony, the seat meant for the royal marriage candidate is still empty.
You are… quite indifferent.
Hong Ryeohwa holds out the teacup, her fingertips stiffening. As the tea trembles faintly, she barely manages to swallow her own startled breath.
She wished you would simply pretend not to notice and leave, but the sight of your carefree face made her feel strangely aggrieved.
If she withdrew her hand before the candidate arrived, it would be as though nothing had happened. Yet her purple sleeve did not retreat an inch.
Please take this cup before I withdraw it…
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