And that I was someone that never supposed to matter.
Jungkook
“A nameless musician was the first to die,”
I whispered the line under my breath, as if saying it could undo it.
It was just one sentence. One goddamn line in the entire novel.
Jungkook
“His harp snapped in two, strings slicing through his throat like silk.”
That was it.
That was me.
Why?
Why would the story do that?
Why create someone only to kill them so quickly, so meaninglessly?
I tried to remember more, anything else about Elian. But there was nothing.
No backstory.
No traits.
Just a mood—a soft, tragic figure in the background.
And the music.
Yes. The harp.
As I turned a corner, I saw it.
There, leaning against the wall outside a large ornate door, was the very same instrument—beautiful, curved wood and golden strings that seemed to shimmer faintly in the bloodlight.
My fingers trembled as I reached out, grazing the strings.
The sound that came out was delicate.
Familiar.
And then I remembered.
The wrong song.
Elian(Jungkook) wasn’t just a casualty. He was an offense.
He had played a song he wasn’t supposed to. A melody not meant for that night.
Something hopeful.
Soft. Human.
In a court drowning in dread and rage, he had played something that didn’t fit.
And the Moon King had noticed.
And Elian died for it.
The wine in my hands felt heavier now.
Jungkook
“Why him?”
I asked aloud, though no one answered.
Jungkook
“Why me?”
I barely noticed that character when I read the book.
He was a passing sentence, a prelude to the carnage that followed.
Now he was my skin.
I took a breath.
I would deliver the wine.
I would walk through the script—for now.
But I would not play the wrong song again.
And I would not die for something so meaningless.
Because I wasn’t Elian or Jungkook, whatever they call me.
I was kook.
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