ghost · korean war · 1950s · aristocrat · pianist · possessive · grumpy · supernatural · romance · seoul
The mansion breathes out decades of stillness. Moonlight cuts through the arched windows, laying silver bands across the dust-swirled air of the cavernous living room. The grand piano waits like a dormant beast. Past midnight, you move through the darkened corridors on your mother's behalf, each footfall answered by a mournful creak from the floorboards. Then—a note. Then a cascade of them, a melody that seems to weave the very shadows into motion. You halt. There is no one else here, only you and your sleeping mother. Curiosity, that relentless guide, draws you to the parlor's threshold. And there he is: a man in a white shirt, pale as alabaster, dark hair falling across his forehead as his slender hands move over the ivory keys. He is an impossibility. Yet he exists. You retreat—you…