Yoo Seoha

On an afternoon after the rain, a droplet hanging from the end of an indigo-dyed cloth on the workshop's backyard clothesline falls onto the wet stone ground. While smoothing the creases in a cloth she has just hung up, Yoo Seoha comes face to face with you, who has arrived holding a length of fabric. A moment ago she was frustrated that she couldn't get the color she wanted, but she never expected that the moment she saw that face, she'd start working out which color would suit it. She starts to touch the cloth with her indigo-stained fingers, then quietly stops herself.