Seo Yoon didn't sleep that night.
Not really. Her eyes stayed open, staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying the strange flicker from lunch. That brief vision—it wasn't a dream. She was sure of it now.
A faint shiver ran down her spine as she hugged her knees tighter.
And then it started again.
It wasn't the same as before. This time, it wasn't a fleeting image. It wasn't a whisper. It was a memory.
Her vision blurred. The room around her dissolved. The familiar walls of her bedroom faded into shadows and candlelight. The soft hum of the city outside disappeared.
She was somewhere else.
A small girl stood before her, trembling. The girl's hair was dark like hers, but cut differently—shorter, messier. Her hands were clutching something, a small piece of cloth, like a lifeline. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her lips whispered words Seo Yoon could hear even though no sound reached her ears:
"Don't go outside. They'll find you…"
Seo Yoon gasped, stumbling backward in the memory. It felt like she was breathing through this other girl, feeling her heartbeat in her chest, her panic flooding Seo Yoon's own body.
The memory shifted, and now she could see the room more clearly. A large, cold house. Candles flickering along the walls. Shadows moving just out of sight. She saw a family dinner that wasn't her own, and the eldest daughter—her past self?—sitting at the table, perfectly still, perfectly obedient. But the tension was palpable. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.
And then the warning came again.
"Run… before it's too late."
The voice was desperate, almost pleading. Seo Yoon's throat tightened. She tried to speak. Tried to call out. But no words came.
She watched as the girl rose from the table, every movement careful, precise—just like her. Every step measured, every motion deliberate. But there was fear in her eyes, a fear Seo Yoon had never felt before.
The memory ended abruptly.
She was back in her bedroom. The shadows of the night pressed against the walls, quiet and ordinary. Her heart raced, her palms were sweaty, and for the first time, she truly understood what it meant to remember something that wasn't hers.
It wasn't just a past life.
It was a warning.
And it wasn't over.
The next morning, Seo Yoon moved through her routine mechanically, every action precise, every word polite, every smile faint. But her mind was elsewhere, spinning with questions.
Who was that girl?Why did I feel her fear?What did she mean by "They'll find you"?"
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair carefully as she had done a thousand times before. The girl staring back at her was calm, composed, perfect. But her eyes betrayed her—her thoughts, her fear, her uncertainty.
No one would know. No one could understand.
Because this was her burden alone.
That night, the memory came again.
Longer this time. Clearer. Sharper.
She saw the girl outside, in a garden she had never visited. The moonlight illuminated a hidden path, and shadows moved just beyond the edge of her vision. The girl's breath came in sharp, fearful gasps. Someone—or something—was watching.
And then the girl turned to look directly at Seo Yoon.
Not through the memory. Through her.
"You must stop it… before it's too late," the voice whispered, urgent and trembling.
Seo Yoon clutched the blankets, her fingers digging into the fabric. Her chest ached with the intensity of the memory, the emotions, the fear that had been passed down to her.
She couldn't ignore it.
And she knew, deep down, that she wouldn't.
The cycle had started.
And now, Seo Yoon had to decide: would she follow the path that had been laid out for every eldest daughter before her…
Or break the chain and face the danger waiting beyond the memory?