On the brink of death, Yoo Sangah would like to say she has no regrets.
Unfortunately, that would be a lie.
One of them is denying her condition for so long – acknowledging the fact that she was dying would have probably made things run more slowly in the long run, but it would have been worth it, not having them coddle her all at once.
(Jung Heewon’s expression after seeing her throw up blood for the first time was one Yoo Sangah would never forget.)
When Yoo Sangah was nine, she witnessed her grandfather’s passing. It wasn’t a surprise – he’d already been ill for long, and his condition slowly but surely declined over the course of the few moths the doctors had given him.
They weren’t close, but shared a few moments before. They would spend evenings in silence, reading together. More than once throughout her life, Yoo Sangah regretted not talking to him more, but death has a way of giving her a new perspective on things. She'll remember the best of him, as she hopes people do of her. Her memory of him might not be whole, but it is still a part of him.
Her mother was too tired to tell her to be proper, so the sound of her wailing reverberated on the sterile walls of the hospital. She was close enough to take her grandfather’s hand, but decided against it. In her childish mind, touching it would only solidify she was too late, that it had already grown cold; so, she’d rather not know.
Then, her grandfather turned to her. His body didn't move, but his eyes that met hers were surprisingly lucid.
“Sangah. Don’t cry, please. Look at me.”
Her frantic sobs paused for a moment.
“I’ll be fine, don't worry. You’re going to be amazing, you know that? Remember this: your grandpa loves you very much.”
They were sweet words to calm a child, but in that moment, Yoo Sangah hated him for it.
How could he? She didn’t understand. He had months to say everything in his heart, but left it to the very last second: the ones who stayed would have to bear the weight of those words, while he curiously divorced himself of any responsibility.
That day, she vowed to never put others through this pain. If she knew her death was coming, Sangah would say what she meant in time to deal with the fallout or not say ut at all.
The problem is, when you’re dying, you always think you have more time.
Now look at her, years later – taking the same coward’s way out. The realization of her own hypocrisy hits her, and she almost lets out a bitter laugh. Fortunately, her incarnation body isn’t strong enough to sustain one, so all that comes out is a strained breath.
There are many things she can’t do, these days.
Not destroying Olympus with her own hands is another one of her regrets. Not for her sake; her choices were her own, but for the pain they caused her friends. Yoo Sangah will never forget the feeling constricting her lungs when she read Kim Dokja’s fate. It was then, she reminisces, that Kim Dokja’s deep seethed hatred of constellations began to make sense.
Han Sooyoung is a chapter all on her own. Falling in love with her is not something she regrets – more like the time it took her to see the writer for what she was. The trick she pulled when they first met didn’t help, but three years of comradeship were enough to change Sangah’s mind.
Sometimes, Sangah wishes she was a reader as avid as Kim Dokja. Maybe then, she could’ve understood Sooyoung earlier, given them more time.
Though, she wonders if that would have even helped. Despite his reading prowess, Kim Dokja seemed to have a hard time when it came to feelings.
By the time she understood the true nature of her feelings towards the other woman, death was no longer avoidable and, well.
Yoo Sangah wouldn’t call herself a good person, but she would like to die without stooping that low.
Han Sooyoung deserves better than the promise of something that she cannot deliver. This is the one secret she’s not uncomfortable with taking to the grave.
More than anything, Sangah is glad she took the time to commit the curve of Sooyoung’s smile to memory. Whatever comes next, as long as she has it with her, it’ll be alright. She can feel it.
Her last moments are, of course, extremely painful. She can feel the stories that make her whole stretch apart into something unrecognizable.
Yoo Sangah is still afraid, but it’s fine.
They’re all safe, so she’s fine.
So, she smiles through the pain and makes her last words count.
Kim Dokja looks devastated. The pain in his eyes is sharp and clear. She supposes it makes sense. He never did like it when things slipped his control.
Once again, Yoo Sangah is glad her incarnation body can no longer open its eyelids. If she had to look him in the eyes, she’s not sure if she could go through with this.
Han Sooyoung grits her teeth. She opens her mouth to say something, but seems to decide against it.
The action makes dread pool on whatever’s left of Yoo Sangah’s stomach, but she brushes it off. Some secrets are meant to be kept. As irrational as the thought is, If Han Sooyoung has secretly despised her all this time, that’s not something she wants to know.
Yoo Sangah isn’t naïve. She knows how much they’re hurting, by her own hands.
But Yoo Sangah is selfish, and she doesn’t want to go with any regrets. So, she says her goodbyes, and watches as the world undoes itself before her eyes.
In another world, one of eternity and epilogue, here is what happens:
A woman voices her intentions too early, and is deterred by a word. The other one perishes, only to live on inside a wall by the will of the Reader. It is only a small tragedy on the large scheme of things. Time goes on, and the dream beings anew. A neat cycle of misery resolves once again, while those outside the story are only able to Watch.
This is not such a world.
Here is what happens:
Han Sooyoung looks up. Her eyes are blazing with defiance, but her voice is weighted down with resignation.
“Fine. I accept your terms. Now do your job, and save her.”
Kim Dokja seems to have a horrible realization, and she watches as all blood drains from his face. Yoo Sangah wishes she could understand. They’ve always had a talent for understanding each other in a way she never could. She bites down the familiar burn of jealousy and lets her mind race. Why would she, of all people, do this. Yoo Sangah told them not to accept anything from constellations. The price paid would be certainly bigger than any flimsy recovery they could offer, so—
“Han Sooyoung, No!”
Kim Dokja snarls, but it's too late. They can only watch with horror as the message flashes above their heads.
[The Outer World Covenant is being activated!]
—Unless.
Yoo Sangah feels the air filling her lungs. It’s the best and the worst thing she’s felt in months.
Kim Dokja grabs Han Sooyoung’s arm. He’s saying something, but she can’t hear it above the ringing in her ears. Jung Heewon has an indecipherable expression on her face as she watches this unfold from the corner of the room, Lee Hyunsung on her heels. Lee Jihye and the children are frozen in place, trying to process the events unfolding.
She looks at Yoo Sangah with such deep sadness, such deep relief, and she thinks No, No, this isn’t how it’s meant to go.
In that moment, Sangah wants to hold her hand. She doesn’t even care if it’s already cold and it’s too late. She needs her to know, in some way.
Her fingers do not comply. She curses Olympus one more time for taking even this from her.
If Kim Dokja looked desperate before, he is even more so now. He is as helpless as the rest of them to stop what’s happening.
Han Sooyoung stands, a promise on her lips. Her eyes are over bright, her chin trembles. Yoo Sangah hates everything about it. She wants to tell her she has a nice laugh. She wants to tell her about her feelings, secrets be damned. She wants to take her away from all this. She wants—
Yoo Sangah wants a great deal of things.
On the night sky, a distant star flashes brightly. Kim Dokja looks horrified beyond belief.
One moment, there is Han Sooyoung: she’s smiling, bold and bright and beautiful.
Then, there is nothing.
.
.
.
Somewhere in a world of zero, Han Sooyoung opens her eyes.