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Sometimes, the human soul is a packaged good with warning labels plastered atop it. Fragile, the things say, neatly placed around the ends, over and over again. The heart is held thinly by frail veins. Fearful feelings, clumsy, pathetic, clamber over his socked feet, knobby knees, hips, waist, chest. This isn't uncommon for Yeoul––no, not really; he has long become accustomed to the fits of anxiety that come and go. Even so, it courses through him, sweeping beneath him.

I. II.

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Pub: 21 May 2026 20:59 UTC

Edit: 21 May 2026 22:21 UTC

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