Ashes; part i
jongkey | cinderella!au | angst | pg | part i/?
a/n: this is my first time posting to lj and i have no idea what i'm doing but i hope you like this anyway ;~;
It was a sunny autumn day when Kibum was born.
The day was almost magical; sunlight filtering through honey-yellow leaves, the finches singing their songs cheerfully, as if they were welcoming the newborn into this world.
Some say that he was born with a special type of magic, one that only pure, innocent hearts could maintain; but others saw only a baby, with a golden tuft of hair on his head.
His large, brown baby eyes always shone with delight, giggling with joy as his world doubled in size day by day. He was happy seeing the golden and burgundy leaves falling gently to the ground as winter came crawling in, and he shone with happiness as the first snow came on a bright December morning.
Spring, though, spring was special. There was something magical about spring, and the way that life began anew. His first spring was spent in various baby baskets or within the arms of his parents, but baby Kibum was still as fascinated with spring back then as he was when he was a child, learning the names of the flowers that bloomed and the various farm animals kept on the estate.
As soon as he could toddle on his little legs, he zoomed throughout the meadows, sprang along the creek, and jumped around the trees, stumbling like a foal all day long, but he managed to continue on with his adventures.
He was unstoppable, his life and energy was boundless, and his spirit and kindness touched all those he saw.
For Kibum was a true angel, from the very day he was born.
It was like magic.
During the short winter days, Kibum climbed to the attic, and gazed out the large windows, to the castle beyond.
He dreamed of going there one day, to see the stone walls that rose high, the gardens that were always green and colorful year-round. He wondered if the inside was as grand as it was rumored to be, and if the balls were truly the greatest event of the year. Kibum’s fascination with the castle never ceased, but, he was content within his home. He could pretend to be the prince of his own house, if he so wished, and he was every bit as happy with that as he could have been if he was living inside a castle.
The estate he lived on was large, but no larger than a typical family farm. It was surrounded by forests and meadows, becoming one with the flora and fauna that influenced Kibum and his family's lives. The inside was traditional and old, every nook and cranny filled with trinkets and souvenirs gathered by generations of Kim’s, and made by them as well.
Kibum’s mother was a European artist, her medium ever-changing, and her art touched every wall of the manor. From the colorful paneling, to the very clothes the family wore, she was always there, even when she was away visiting her parents. She was born in London, and grew up living in regal homes, learning to be a docile housewife, but she was never docile. She was calm and elegant, sure, but she wasn't afraid to get into the dirt with the flowers, showing Kibum how the lillies grew, how seeds should be planted, and so much more; unlike her own parents, who let the help do everything for them.
As much as Kibum adored his mother, Kibum loved his father just a bit more so. He came from a distant East-Asian country called Korea, and although Kibum had never been there, he knew that his father was deeply in love with the culture he grew up with, and he was the reason why Kibum grew up with his name and different features than other boys in Europe, and with two languages deeply imbedded into his memory. His father was just as loving as his mother, but never around as he would have liked to have been. He would bring Kibum gifts after every single one of his trips, but the gifts weren't silly trinkets merely for vanity. Some were odd, some were cheap, but all were meaningful in various ways.
Kibum loved his mother, with all his young heart could possibly give, and he hung onto her every word. She was elegant and lively, kind and generous. Kibum wished to be exactly like her one day, and perhaps marry a politician like his father. Or maybe a charming, lovely woman like his mother?
“See this, Kibum? This is origami, it means ‘folding paper’. This one is a rabbit. Can you say rabbit, little Kibummie?”
“Rabbit!”
“Good! Now, can you say ‘usagi’?”
“Usagi? What does that mean, father?”
“It means ‘rabbit’ in Japanese.”
“Oh, okay! Usagi! Usagi, usagi, usagi!”
“You’re doing so well, Kibummie. Soon, you’ll be fluent in every language known to man.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
It was springtime again, and little Kibum was seven years and seven months, which he said proudly that very morning, when his life changed.
At first, no one really took notice of how Mrs. Kim coughed in short spurts, because, “It’s just the dust. Nothing but a little spring cleaning will fix this.” But even after the maids cleaned every square centimeter of the house, Kibum’s mother still hacked into her handkerchief until she nearly passed out from lack of breath.
Kibum had just received a gift from his mother, a shirt made of golden silk with ruffles, when she collapsed in the hallway. The entire household was on their feet, one woman running to get water, another helping Mr. Kim pick up the sick lady and put her on her large bed, and the cook was rushing out of the manor to find a doctor. And, whilst Kibum’s father was by his wife’s side, Kibum had to be restrained and kept in his room with the gardener.
“Dale…?” Kibum asked, his watery eyes glancing up at the old man.
“Yes, master Kibum?”
“Will my mother be alright?”
“I have no clue.” Dale said, gently rubbing Kibum’s arms.
The boy looked at his hands, daintily folded on his lap, and stared at his long fingers for several hours. He didn't want to live without his mother. He didn't want to know what the world would be like without the angelic presence of the graceful woman. He didn't want to know how it felt to lose the love his mother gave, or to feel the loneliness that she eased whenever his father left.
“Kibum?”
Said boy looked up towards the door, seeing his weary father standing in the doorway. “Yes?”
“Your mother would like to see you now.”
He rushed off his seat to his mother and father’s room, and halted by the big bed. His mother was pale, deathly pale, but her nose and cheeks were red, from a fever.
“Kibum… come here darling.” She said, in a raspy voice. Kibum obeyed, and sat on her lap as she had gestured. “Listen very well, alright?” He nodded, a tear escaping and falling down his cheek. “You have to be kind. And courageous. Always be kind, and always have courage. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes mother.”
“Good. Because… there is no greater magic in this world than kindness. And you, my child, have more kindness in your pinkie than most people have in their entire bodies. Your kindness will bring you happiness, understand?”
“Y-yes.”
“And, Kibummie darling, courage is what you’ll need when it’s hardest to be kind. Find it, and show it off to the world… show it off to me.”
“Yes mother.”
“Good… good.” She whispered, having no strength left to continue. She broke right then, sobbing weakly as she held her son to her chest, and her husband kneeling by the bed and wrapping his arms around the both.
That would be their last hug, and the last words she ever said.
He wore that golden shirt to her funeral, but as soon as the last shovel-full of dirt was placed upon her casket, he took it off, placed it at the bottom of his armoire, and never took it out again.
And although Kibum’s heart suffered greatly, he truly wasn't prepared for what would happen next.
He continued to grow, continued to be kind and happy despite the lack of his mother’s presence. He grew up to be fairer than all, more beautiful than all, and so kind and giving, that it was almost like he was destined to be more than a simple boy living in a simple home.
“Jinki, Jinki? Where are you?” He sang, looking for his fluffy white rabbit. His friend had hopped off again, sneaking away when the blond teen was reading another fantasy novel. Jinki had a tendency to run away into the meadows beyond, but he always came back to Kibum.
The rabbit was young when Kibum found him, muddy and shivering, exposed to the elements without his mother. The human saved him, picking him up gently, and nurturing him back to health. And, in return, Jinki gave the human a friendship that not all others would see as a true friendship, but perhaps it was only something that a magical boy like Kibum could feel. He had a way with animals, after all.
“Come on, Jinki! Father’s coming back today, and I want to show him the trick I taught you. Don’t you want him to see how well you can dance, Jinki?” Kibum called the rabbit over and over again fruitlessly, and he gave up after a few minutes.
Instead, he ran back to the house, where the help were waiting for his father to arrive home, after a long journey to Paris.
Soon, Kibum heard the horse-drawn carriage roll into the estate, and he squealed with joy. He ran from the doorstep to meet his father halfway, and his father jumped out to welcome the hug that Kibum gave.
“I missed you so much, father!” Kibum cried, clinging onto his father, his tears wetting the older man's coat.
“I missed you too. Three months is way too long to be away from my precious Kibummie, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, father. Don’t do it again!”
“Alright, alright. I promise.”
“Great! Now, what did you bring me this time?”Kibum giggled, quickly forgiving his father for being away for so long, with only a few letters here and there to put Kibum's worries to rest.
Kibum’s father laughed lowly, reaching into his leather bag to give the boy his present. It was a book, heavy and thick, bound in black leather.
The boy’s eyes widened, and he smiled so beautifully when reaching out to grab the book. “What’s it about, father?” He asked, leafing through the pages. His eyes sparkled when he realized that each page was illuminated, colorful floral designs surrounding the words. He recognized several French phrases, but he still didn’t know how they connected into a story.
“This book is a collection of French poetry, Kibum. Starting today, you’ll translate them for me during afternoon tea.”
Kibum’s smile widened even further, his white teeth glimmering in the sunlight. That smile, paired with the glittering eyes, was permanent for the rest of the day. He couldn't wait to read this book and to spend time with his father.
“Charm not the eye alone, but touch the heart.
Have you the hidden sympathies between
Still life and animated beings seen?
Have you not heard, when fields and woods rejoice,
Their silent eloquence, their secret voice?
Give the effect.
Mark too, from grave to gay,
From grand to simple, how we love to stray:
To please each taste, combine each varying style,
Spread gloom around, or bid the landscape smile;
There let the painter's touch new charms acquire
Let Inspiration's breath the poet fire… (*)”
Kibum’s voice faltered at the end, pausing to take a breath and a sip of tea.
“Father?” Kibum asked, setting the book down on the love-seat.
“Yes?”
“Wasn’t this mother’s favorite poem?”
“It was,” his father said, eyes shining.
“Doesn’t it make you feel sad, to hear the poems she used to recite by heart every day?”
“It does, Kibum. But it also makes me happy. I'm happy to be able to be closer to her.”
“But she isn’t here.”
“I know. But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? We can only cherish her memory, and take comfort in the things she used to enjoy
and love.”
“Would she want us to move on, like this?”
“Of course she does, why wouldn’t she? She was the embodiment of love and life, to me, and I’m positive that she would want us to continue loving and living…” Mr. Kim’s voice trailed off into quiet whispers, his eyes staring into Kibum’s soul intently. “Kibum… I think it’s time for me to get married again.”
“W-what? Marriage? To whom?”
“To a widow I met in Paris. Her husband was a Baron, he died several months ago from an accident. She has two daughters, Kibum. All three of them are gorgeous and lively, a real exciting bunch to be with. You’d love them, for sure.”
“Well, if you think it’s best.”
“Really? You’d really give me a second chance to have love?”
“Of course, father. I love you. And as much as I wish mother was still with us, she’d really want you to find love again, as you’d said.”
Mr. Kim crossed the short distance to his son, and pulled him into a crushing hug.
“Thank you, Kibummie, thank you.”
Kibum smiled, and returned the hug. He thought that maybe he could also have a second chance, a second chance to find a loving mother that would keep him company while his father was away, and would nourish him day in and day out. Because everyone deserves a second chance at everything, don’t they?
"I love you, father."
"I love you too, Kibummie."
And they were happy, in that one, fragile moment. But their happiness was not destined to last.
(*)= "The Gardens" by Jacques Delille
a/n: this is my first time posting to lj and i have no idea what i'm doing but i hope you like this anyway ;~;
It was a sunny autumn day when Kibum was born.
The day was almost magical; sunlight filtering through honey-yellow leaves, the finches singing their songs cheerfully, as if they were welcoming the newborn into this world.
Some say that he was born with a special type of magic, one that only pure, innocent hearts could maintain; but others saw only a baby, with a golden tuft of hair on his head.
His large, brown baby eyes always shone with delight, giggling with joy as his world doubled in size day by day. He was happy seeing the golden and burgundy leaves falling gently to the ground as winter came crawling in, and he shone with happiness as the first snow came on a bright December morning.
Spring, though, spring was special. There was something magical about spring, and the way that life began anew. His first spring was spent in various baby baskets or within the arms of his parents, but baby Kibum was still as fascinated with spring back then as he was when he was a child, learning the names of the flowers that bloomed and the various farm animals kept on the estate.
As soon as he could toddle on his little legs, he zoomed throughout the meadows, sprang along the creek, and jumped around the trees, stumbling like a foal all day long, but he managed to continue on with his adventures.
He was unstoppable, his life and energy was boundless, and his spirit and kindness touched all those he saw.
For Kibum was a true angel, from the very day he was born.
It was like magic.
During the short winter days, Kibum climbed to the attic, and gazed out the large windows, to the castle beyond.
He dreamed of going there one day, to see the stone walls that rose high, the gardens that were always green and colorful year-round. He wondered if the inside was as grand as it was rumored to be, and if the balls were truly the greatest event of the year. Kibum’s fascination with the castle never ceased, but, he was content within his home. He could pretend to be the prince of his own house, if he so wished, and he was every bit as happy with that as he could have been if he was living inside a castle.
The estate he lived on was large, but no larger than a typical family farm. It was surrounded by forests and meadows, becoming one with the flora and fauna that influenced Kibum and his family's lives. The inside was traditional and old, every nook and cranny filled with trinkets and souvenirs gathered by generations of Kim’s, and made by them as well.
Kibum’s mother was a European artist, her medium ever-changing, and her art touched every wall of the manor. From the colorful paneling, to the very clothes the family wore, she was always there, even when she was away visiting her parents. She was born in London, and grew up living in regal homes, learning to be a docile housewife, but she was never docile. She was calm and elegant, sure, but she wasn't afraid to get into the dirt with the flowers, showing Kibum how the lillies grew, how seeds should be planted, and so much more; unlike her own parents, who let the help do everything for them.
As much as Kibum adored his mother, Kibum loved his father just a bit more so. He came from a distant East-Asian country called Korea, and although Kibum had never been there, he knew that his father was deeply in love with the culture he grew up with, and he was the reason why Kibum grew up with his name and different features than other boys in Europe, and with two languages deeply imbedded into his memory. His father was just as loving as his mother, but never around as he would have liked to have been. He would bring Kibum gifts after every single one of his trips, but the gifts weren't silly trinkets merely for vanity. Some were odd, some were cheap, but all were meaningful in various ways.
Kibum loved his mother, with all his young heart could possibly give, and he hung onto her every word. She was elegant and lively, kind and generous. Kibum wished to be exactly like her one day, and perhaps marry a politician like his father. Or maybe a charming, lovely woman like his mother?
“See this, Kibum? This is origami, it means ‘folding paper’. This one is a rabbit. Can you say rabbit, little Kibummie?”
“Rabbit!”
“Good! Now, can you say ‘usagi’?”
“Usagi? What does that mean, father?”
“It means ‘rabbit’ in Japanese.”
“Oh, okay! Usagi! Usagi, usagi, usagi!”
“You’re doing so well, Kibummie. Soon, you’ll be fluent in every language known to man.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
It was springtime again, and little Kibum was seven years and seven months, which he said proudly that very morning, when his life changed.
At first, no one really took notice of how Mrs. Kim coughed in short spurts, because, “It’s just the dust. Nothing but a little spring cleaning will fix this.” But even after the maids cleaned every square centimeter of the house, Kibum’s mother still hacked into her handkerchief until she nearly passed out from lack of breath.
Kibum had just received a gift from his mother, a shirt made of golden silk with ruffles, when she collapsed in the hallway. The entire household was on their feet, one woman running to get water, another helping Mr. Kim pick up the sick lady and put her on her large bed, and the cook was rushing out of the manor to find a doctor. And, whilst Kibum’s father was by his wife’s side, Kibum had to be restrained and kept in his room with the gardener.
“Dale…?” Kibum asked, his watery eyes glancing up at the old man.
“Yes, master Kibum?”
“Will my mother be alright?”
“I have no clue.” Dale said, gently rubbing Kibum’s arms.
The boy looked at his hands, daintily folded on his lap, and stared at his long fingers for several hours. He didn't want to live without his mother. He didn't want to know what the world would be like without the angelic presence of the graceful woman. He didn't want to know how it felt to lose the love his mother gave, or to feel the loneliness that she eased whenever his father left.
“Kibum?”
Said boy looked up towards the door, seeing his weary father standing in the doorway. “Yes?”
“Your mother would like to see you now.”
He rushed off his seat to his mother and father’s room, and halted by the big bed. His mother was pale, deathly pale, but her nose and cheeks were red, from a fever.
“Kibum… come here darling.” She said, in a raspy voice. Kibum obeyed, and sat on her lap as she had gestured. “Listen very well, alright?” He nodded, a tear escaping and falling down his cheek. “You have to be kind. And courageous. Always be kind, and always have courage. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes mother.”
“Good. Because… there is no greater magic in this world than kindness. And you, my child, have more kindness in your pinkie than most people have in their entire bodies. Your kindness will bring you happiness, understand?”
“Y-yes.”
“And, Kibummie darling, courage is what you’ll need when it’s hardest to be kind. Find it, and show it off to the world… show it off to me.”
“Yes mother.”
“Good… good.” She whispered, having no strength left to continue. She broke right then, sobbing weakly as she held her son to her chest, and her husband kneeling by the bed and wrapping his arms around the both.
That would be their last hug, and the last words she ever said.
He wore that golden shirt to her funeral, but as soon as the last shovel-full of dirt was placed upon her casket, he took it off, placed it at the bottom of his armoire, and never took it out again.
And although Kibum’s heart suffered greatly, he truly wasn't prepared for what would happen next.
He continued to grow, continued to be kind and happy despite the lack of his mother’s presence. He grew up to be fairer than all, more beautiful than all, and so kind and giving, that it was almost like he was destined to be more than a simple boy living in a simple home.
“Jinki, Jinki? Where are you?” He sang, looking for his fluffy white rabbit. His friend had hopped off again, sneaking away when the blond teen was reading another fantasy novel. Jinki had a tendency to run away into the meadows beyond, but he always came back to Kibum.
The rabbit was young when Kibum found him, muddy and shivering, exposed to the elements without his mother. The human saved him, picking him up gently, and nurturing him back to health. And, in return, Jinki gave the human a friendship that not all others would see as a true friendship, but perhaps it was only something that a magical boy like Kibum could feel. He had a way with animals, after all.
“Come on, Jinki! Father’s coming back today, and I want to show him the trick I taught you. Don’t you want him to see how well you can dance, Jinki?” Kibum called the rabbit over and over again fruitlessly, and he gave up after a few minutes.
Instead, he ran back to the house, where the help were waiting for his father to arrive home, after a long journey to Paris.
Soon, Kibum heard the horse-drawn carriage roll into the estate, and he squealed with joy. He ran from the doorstep to meet his father halfway, and his father jumped out to welcome the hug that Kibum gave.
“I missed you so much, father!” Kibum cried, clinging onto his father, his tears wetting the older man's coat.
“I missed you too. Three months is way too long to be away from my precious Kibummie, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, father. Don’t do it again!”
“Alright, alright. I promise.”
“Great! Now, what did you bring me this time?”Kibum giggled, quickly forgiving his father for being away for so long, with only a few letters here and there to put Kibum's worries to rest.
Kibum’s father laughed lowly, reaching into his leather bag to give the boy his present. It was a book, heavy and thick, bound in black leather.
The boy’s eyes widened, and he smiled so beautifully when reaching out to grab the book. “What’s it about, father?” He asked, leafing through the pages. His eyes sparkled when he realized that each page was illuminated, colorful floral designs surrounding the words. He recognized several French phrases, but he still didn’t know how they connected into a story.
“This book is a collection of French poetry, Kibum. Starting today, you’ll translate them for me during afternoon tea.”
Kibum’s smile widened even further, his white teeth glimmering in the sunlight. That smile, paired with the glittering eyes, was permanent for the rest of the day. He couldn't wait to read this book and to spend time with his father.
“Charm not the eye alone, but touch the heart.
Have you the hidden sympathies between
Still life and animated beings seen?
Have you not heard, when fields and woods rejoice,
Their silent eloquence, their secret voice?
Give the effect.
Mark too, from grave to gay,
From grand to simple, how we love to stray:
To please each taste, combine each varying style,
Spread gloom around, or bid the landscape smile;
There let the painter's touch new charms acquire
Let Inspiration's breath the poet fire… (*)”
Kibum’s voice faltered at the end, pausing to take a breath and a sip of tea.
“Father?” Kibum asked, setting the book down on the love-seat.
“Yes?”
“Wasn’t this mother’s favorite poem?”
“It was,” his father said, eyes shining.
“Doesn’t it make you feel sad, to hear the poems she used to recite by heart every day?”
“It does, Kibum. But it also makes me happy. I'm happy to be able to be closer to her.”
“But she isn’t here.”
“I know. But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? We can only cherish her memory, and take comfort in the things she used to enjoy
and love.”
“Would she want us to move on, like this?”
“Of course she does, why wouldn’t she? She was the embodiment of love and life, to me, and I’m positive that she would want us to continue loving and living…” Mr. Kim’s voice trailed off into quiet whispers, his eyes staring into Kibum’s soul intently. “Kibum… I think it’s time for me to get married again.”
“W-what? Marriage? To whom?”
“To a widow I met in Paris. Her husband was a Baron, he died several months ago from an accident. She has two daughters, Kibum. All three of them are gorgeous and lively, a real exciting bunch to be with. You’d love them, for sure.”
“Well, if you think it’s best.”
“Really? You’d really give me a second chance to have love?”
“Of course, father. I love you. And as much as I wish mother was still with us, she’d really want you to find love again, as you’d said.”
Mr. Kim crossed the short distance to his son, and pulled him into a crushing hug.
“Thank you, Kibummie, thank you.”
Kibum smiled, and returned the hug. He thought that maybe he could also have a second chance, a second chance to find a loving mother that would keep him company while his father was away, and would nourish him day in and day out. Because everyone deserves a second chance at everything, don’t they?
"I love you, father."
"I love you too, Kibummie."
And they were happy, in that one, fragile moment. But their happiness was not destined to last.
(*)= "The Gardens" by Jacques Delille