No one had ever told him that he had been adopted after his whore mother had fallen pregnant and had no clue who his father was, although perhaps it would have been better if someone had. Then everything that came after would make sense instead of making him linger in the memories, turning over each one carefully as he tried to determine where he had gone wrong. People abandoned him most of his life and there was no one to blame but himself, right?
Morning sunlight filtered through the white gauze of the curtains that someone must have opened before he roused, a hazy gold that always made the nursery look like something out of a fairytale. Taesu’s earliest memories were bathed in that gold color – the kind that lived in the folds of his governess’s skirts and in the reflections of the polished wood. The house always seemed to smell faintly of plum tea and persimmon, and everything he touched was always smooth against his skin.
At three, he did not yet know this was a luxury. He only knew that hunger had never gnawed at his stomach and when he cried, whether it was from loneliness or something else, someone always came to him immediately to comfort him. When he smiled people seemed relieved, which made Taesu do it often. His governess, an extremely tall woman with hair that greyed around the edge of her face, had very soft hands and a careful voice, always called him our little blessing. He thought blessings were things that belonged to God, and since everyone had said he’d been given to his parents by an Angel (this would make sense later on, once he realized he was not biologically theirs), Taesu assumed she was right.
The couple he called Mother and Father were kind to him, often doting on him as if they could not believe he was actually here. Taesu didn’t understand, not really, but Mother often pulled him into her arms and rocked him, her hand stroking through his hair. Father smelled of ink and pipe smoke, his laughter filling the halls when he returned from work late in the evening. Whenever he lifted Taesu high enough to see the painted dragons near the ceiling (if he was lucky, his Mother would make them dance and spit fire for him), Taesu giggled until his ribs hurt. Those were the good days – measured by the end of laughter echoing throughout their house, the clink of porcelain cups and the hush of bare feet on polished floors.
Those first three years of his life were not void of love and attention.
Sometimes the governess would take him into the gardens at the back of the state. There, under fig and plum trees, the air was often alive with bees. They merely buzzed around them, stopping to rest on flowers before moving along. His governess would sit him on a bench far too large for him, his feet dangling off the edge as he kicked, pressing red apples into his hands to eat. He did not realize what luxury apples were simply because they were always so abundant around the estate, and there always seemed to be at least one for him to eat. Taesu never realized that there was a life beyond these walls. Why would he? He had everything he could possibly need right here.
When the governess brushed crumbs from his chin, she looked at him strangely, her hand lingering against his face. It felt as though she was trying to memorize a face that might soon change. She must have been leaving because she was here one day and gone the next. Mother was introducing him to another governess a few days later, all while insisting that Taesu was just a charmer and that was that.
Taesu was not sure what charmed meant, but he certainly learned how to do it early on in life. If he laughed, the servants laughed with him. If he pouted (which was often during his terrible twos), the servants rushed to console him. He thought this was what unconditional love was: love was just the ability to make people soften. Love was always wanting to have people around, and those people wanted to be there, too. He used it without malice, much like a child discovering that light can be bent through glass to make rainbows dance on the floor.
But once, when he ran to show his mother one of the rainbows because he felt the colors were particularly bright that day, she stepped back from him as though he had startled her. The sunlight caught him full in the face so he didn’t exactly see how her eyes widened, although her expression, something fragile and frightened, remained glued to her face as he came closer, tugging at her hand to show her the rainbow. She knelt quickly, her hands smoothing through his thick, black hair, and told him he had startled her, nothing more. She oohed and awed over the rainbow, although she did not sit next to him nor did she stay long before telling the governess to care for him for the remainder of the day.
The next day and every single day after, Taesu noticed how her hands trembled when she adjusted the collar of his shirt and the way Father’s laughter no longer echoed throughout the corridors. In fact, Taesu noticed how he saw less and less of his parents altogether, and was simply too young to understand why. He felt the unease but couldn’t name it, even though he felt it. It reminded him of a draft that came under a closed door during the winter. Eyes followed him around as though everyone was waiting for something to happen, and every day they were free from incident, there was a collective sigh of relief.
Still, in his small world, life remained good. There were still silk sheets, sweet rice cakes and lullabies sung to him as covers were pulled to his chin. The governess still kissed his forehead each night after the song and told him he was loved so, so much. And so, Taesu slept easily in his bed, unaware that love, for most people, had limits – and that his had already been measured.
Summertime 1873, an estate just outside of Hanyang
Morning sunlight filtered through the white gauze of the curtains that someone must have opened before he roused, a hazy gold that always made the nursery look like something out of a fairytale. Taesu’s earliest memories were bathed in that gold color – the kind that lived in the folds of his governess’s skirts and in the reflections of the polished wood. The house always seemed to smell faintly of plum tea and persimmon, and everything he touched was always smooth against his skin.
At three, he did not yet know this was a luxury. He only knew that hunger had never gnawed at his stomach and when he cried, whether it was from loneliness or something else, someone always came to him immediately to comfort him. When he smiled people seemed relieved, which made Taesu do it often. His governess, an extremely tall woman with hair that greyed around the edge of her face, had very soft hands and a careful voice, always called him our little blessing. He thought blessings were things that belonged to God, and since everyone had said he’d been given to his parents by an Angel (this would make sense later on, once he realized he was not biologically theirs), Taesu assumed she was right.
The couple he called Mother and Father were kind to him, often doting on him as if they could not believe he was actually here. Taesu didn’t understand, not really, but Mother often pulled him into her arms and rocked him, her hand stroking through his hair. Father smelled of ink and pipe smoke, his laughter filling the halls when he returned from work late in the evening. Whenever he lifted Taesu high enough to see the painted dragons near the ceiling (if he was lucky, his Mother would make them dance and spit fire for him), Taesu giggled until his ribs hurt. Those were the good days – measured by the end of laughter echoing throughout their house, the clink of porcelain cups and the hush of bare feet on polished floors.
Those first three years of his life were not void of love and attention.
Sometimes the governess would take him into the gardens at the back of the state. There, under fig and plum trees, the air was often alive with bees. They merely buzzed around them, stopping to rest on flowers before moving along. His governess would sit him on a bench far too large for him, his feet dangling off the edge as he kicked, pressing red apples into his hands to eat. He did not realize what luxury apples were simply because they were always so abundant around the estate, and there always seemed to be at least one for him to eat. Taesu never realized that there was a life beyond these walls. Why would he? He had everything he could possibly need right here.
When the governess brushed crumbs from his chin, she looked at him strangely, her hand lingering against his face. It felt as though she was trying to memorize a face that might soon change. She must have been leaving because she was here one day and gone the next. Mother was introducing him to another governess a few days later, all while insisting that Taesu was just a charmer and that was that.
Taesu was not sure what charmed meant, but he certainly learned how to do it early on in life. If he laughed, the servants laughed with him. If he pouted (which was often during his terrible twos), the servants rushed to console him. He thought this was what unconditional love was: love was just the ability to make people soften. Love was always wanting to have people around, and those people wanted to be there, too. He used it without malice, much like a child discovering that light can be bent through glass to make rainbows dance on the floor.
But once, when he ran to show his mother one of the rainbows because he felt the colors were particularly bright that day, she stepped back from him as though he had startled her. The sunlight caught him full in the face so he didn’t exactly see how her eyes widened, although her expression, something fragile and frightened, remained glued to her face as he came closer, tugging at her hand to show her the rainbow. She knelt quickly, her hands smoothing through his thick, black hair, and told him he had startled her, nothing more. She oohed and awed over the rainbow, although she did not sit next to him nor did she stay long before telling the governess to care for him for the remainder of the day.
The next day and every single day after, Taesu noticed how her hands trembled when she adjusted the collar of his shirt and the way Father’s laughter no longer echoed throughout the corridors. In fact, Taesu noticed how he saw less and less of his parents altogether, and was simply too young to understand why. He felt the unease but couldn’t name it, even though he felt it. It reminded him of a draft that came under a closed door during the winter. Eyes followed him around as though everyone was waiting for something to happen, and every day they were free from incident, there was a collective sigh of relief.
Still, in his small world, life remained good. There were still silk sheets, sweet rice cakes and lullabies sung to him as covers were pulled to his chin. The governess still kissed his forehead each night after the song and told him he was loved so, so much. And so, Taesu slept easily in his bed, unaware that love, for most people, had limits – and that his had already been measured.
![[Image: JJUdkv9.png]](https://file.garden/aN0lvmYmaWI-Onw7/Charming/JJUdkv9.png)
Credit to Fox for this beautiful set!<3