Salvation
I was a child who shouldn't have existed from the moment I was born. The world was nothing but cold, damp gray, and at the very bottom of my memories lingered only the bone-chilling freeze that cut into my flesh and the musty mold stench stabbing at my nose.
Mother wrinkled her brow every time she saw me, as if gazing at a parasite that had devoured her once-glorious youth.
"Don't come out. I get bad vibes just looking at those creepy eyes of yours."
Mother shoved my tiny body into the corner of the shed and locked the door from the outside with a bar. Clang—the sound of metal meshing together, and my world plunged into pitch blackness.
I curled up on the pile of rotten straw, counting the faint moonlight seeping through the cracks in the ceiling. That was how I learned about the world.
Father had been gone since I was born. According to Mother, he'd run away because of me. She said we'd have lived happily ever after if it weren't for me.
I shouldn't have been born...
Meals came with insults, tossed at my feet. A moldy, rock-hard chunk of bread rolled across the dusty floor.
"Eat this. Gotta keep you alive till your deadbeat dad stops sending money."
It wasn't feeding—it was livestock management. If a cry escaped outside, the beatings started without fail, so I learned first to bite my lip until it bled and swallow my screams.
The rare days I was dragged out of the shed were hellish enough to make the darkness feel missed. Passing the village square, the kids surrounded me like it was planned, starting their hunt.
"Hey, look! It's the witch! Monster! You didn't wash again today, did you? Stay away, you stink!"
The big kid acting as leader spat at my feet and yelled, and the others scooped up roadside pebbles like they'd been waiting.
"Filthy! That's why we had a bad harvest last year—because of trash like you! Die, monster!"
"Look at those eyes. Purple like a cursed snake, right? Gross—don't look at me!"
Thwack! A sharp stone tore across my forehead. My vision went red, but I couldn't even wipe it. The more I winced and crumpled, the louder their jeers grew.
"Aw, does it hurt? Go cry to Mommy then! Oh, right—your mom hates you too and locks you in the shed? Poor thing, you should've never been born!"
Their words sliced into me like blades, carving up my whole body. "Filthy." "Witch." "Shouldn't have been born." They lodged in my chest, churning my guts every breath.
I desperately wished someone would help, but no friends stopped the bullying, no adults intervened. To them, I was just an easy, creepy kid to torment.
Mother banned me from the bathroom, saying I polluted everything I touched. But even without that, this stinking body needed washing. If I got clean, if the smell went away, maybe the kids would see me as human.
On a brutal winter day with snow piled to my thighs, I found a frozen stream alone. Facing the water with drifting thin ice, primal fear surged, but I stripped off my ragged clothes with trembling hands.
I have to wash. Get clean... then maybe Mom won't hate me as much.
The instant the icy water hit my skin, I thought my heart stopped.
"Ah... ahhh..."
Every gust across my wet flesh felt like razor blades peeling off my skin layer by layer. Lips turning purple, I shivered violently but splashed water relentlessly. Sensation had long fled my limbs.
That desperate survival instinct—to get clean, to not be hated—let me endure the hellish cold.
That night, I burned with savage fever. Each breath rattled deep in my chest like grinding metal.
"Mom... it hurts... save me... water... please, water..."
Gasping hot breaths, I clawed at the sturdy shed door until my nails loosened. But from the next room came only a cold shout.
"Shut up! What nonsense in the middle of the night? If you're dying, just die quietly!"
That voice from beyond the wall snuffed out my last hope. Warming myself on the cold dirt floor with my own fever, I thought: if I just fall asleep forever, I won't feel tomorrow's horrors.
One day amid that death-worse-than-life existence, the man called Father appeared.
"Ha, what's brought you here? Weren't we dead to you?"
Mother shoved Father as she snapped.
"What do you think you're doing? I'm not here for you, so back off."
Mother scowled at his curtness. Is he here to save me from this place?
He grabbed my chin roughly, yanking it up.
"This the daughter? I'm taking her—no more child support excuses."
Father just hauled me out of the house.
"Hey! What are you doing!"
Mother's yell chased us, but he ignored it.
Maybe now I could live happily? That hope chilled fast.
Father treated me like cargo. On the way to his house, to save money, he stuffed me in the luggage compartment—then ignored every question about where we were going. He acted like I didn't exist.
At Father's house, I asked where I'd stay. No answer. He sank onto the sofa, eyes closed in thought, while I paced awkwardly beside him.
In that strained silence, the front door opened. Someone entered.
"I'm home."
I peeked up at her. She looked a bit older than me—pretty.
"Roen, say hi. This is your new little sister starting today. Psyche, I think."
At Father's introduction, Sis gave an awkward greeting.
"Uh, h-hi... Psyche?"
Sis didn't frown at my tangled hair or witch-like eyes. Her clear gaze held the pure warmth I'd craved my whole life.
"Ah, hello..."
Why am I acting so timid? I scolded myself.
"Alright, greetings done. I'm busy—fend for yourselves."
Father left with that. We were alone.
"I'm Roen. Must be scary suddenly coming to a strange place, huh? It's okay, no need to be afraid anymore."
As I opened my mouth to reply—grrrrowl—my face burned red. Ruined first impressions. She'd hate me now.
"Hungry, right? Can't have that. Let's eat something first. Even Mount Geumgang is nothing without a meal after."
Against my fears, Sis smiled and offered to cook.
Roen Sis reached for my hand. I knew she meant no harm, but I flinched anyway. She didn't scold or pry—just led the way to the kitchen.
That day's soup and bread were the first warm food I'd ever tasted. Tears welled naturally, but I held them back. Didn't want to startle her.
After eating, Sis drew a hot bath herself. Not stream water—gentle steam rising.
"Cold, huh? You'll warm up now."
Bathing with someone felt odd, but cozy somehow. Hope for a happy life crept back.
Sis washed me tenderly. Fragrant soap bubbles enveloped me, washing away the stench of poverty and cursed stigma that had haunted my life.
Baths feel nice.
After, Sis wrapped me in a fluffy towel and sat me before the mirror. She combed my tangled hair with a silver brush, strand by strand.
Her hands drying my wet hair felt like spring sunlight. I stole glances at her reflection.
Only two years older, yet Sis seemed so mature.
Pretty, kind... if I'd been born like Sis, would I have been hated?
"Wow, Psyche. Your hair's so pretty—like a galaxy in the night sky."
Sis praised me while combing. My first compliment ever. Sis's hair is way prettier. That night-sky color...
Sis smiled, praising more.
"Your eyes are like jewels. You're like a fairy."
Eyes always mocked as witch-like. I looked in the mirror. The girl there wasn't the shed monster anymore. She was the girl Sis called pretty—worthy of love.
That one warm word melted the thousands of venomous thorns embedded in my heart.
From that day, my reason for living was solely Sis. When she took my hand, I finally became human, not monster.