Dessert
Saturday, three in the afternoon.
The girl drew up short before the towering glass doors. She tipped her head back and looked up. The building's glass facade gazed down upon the weekend crowds thronging the shopping district.
"Are we really going in there?"
The cautious question slipped from between her lips.
"This is the most prestigious department store in the country."
"No, I know that, but…"
Iseor's voice trailed off as she looked once more toward the top of the building.
The gold-lettered sign, its strokes elegantly twisted, glittered in the sunlight.
Seine.
Even she, who had never taken an interest in such things, could not possibly have failed to know the name. It was the most exclusive department store in the country, the one that boasted the highest sales figures in the nation. The problem was whether someone like her had any business setting foot inside it.
Iseor glanced sideways, her eyes shrinking.
…She's beautiful.
'Mother's' figure was so lovely it stole the breath. Her jet-black hair had been gathered into a rounded bun at the nape, while the strands left loose spilled naturally along the line of her throat. Every color wrapped around her body was a deep, devouring black that seemed to pull the eye in and refuse to let it go. The dress falling beneath her short bolero jacket had not a single unnecessary line.
Iseor looked away without meaning to. From the full chest and the narrow waist down to the long, straight legs, the contours of that body were laid entirely bare. There were almost no ornaments, almost no skin left uncovered. Even the makeup on her face was light and spare.
"Look at her."
"Holy shit…"
Every gaze in the street had locked onto her. It was not beauty alone that did it. Her very presence commanded it.
Iseor quietly looked down at herself. A sloppy gray tracksuit, her knobby knees poking through the fabric. Sleeves with threads coming loose, a shirt whose collar had been stretched out of shape. Her shoulders hunched of their own accord. Her barely brushed, tangled hair pricked at her cheeks. Even the scent of the toner and lotion 'Mother' had smoothed onto her skin that morning felt like it belonged to someone else.
A pair that anyone alive could see did not belong together. If they pushed through those glass doors, she was certain every eye inside would pin itself to her. And caught in those stares, she would bow her head. Just as she always had.
"Don't worry."
A voice, cold and even, dropped from above her head. Iseor's shoulders went rigid — tension, reflexive and immediate.
"You becoming like me is impossible anyway. I am a beautiful being, after all."
"Uh… right."
An arrogance so towering it bordered on the absurd. The tension she had been holding became instantly irrelevant as sheer incredulity surged up in its place — a flash of defiance quite separate from the strange persuasiveness that came off the monster's beauty. At the same time the rigidity left her body, her shrinking heart diluted by disbelief.
Don't tell me she said that on purpose.
Iseor shook her head. No matter how she looked at it, that monster did not seem the type to take human feelings into account. Though it had, in the end, actually helped.
A heel clicked against the pavement. 'Mother' stepped forward, leaving the girl behind, and Iseor hurried after her with quick little steps.
Neither of them knew. That the sight of the elegant woman leading the way, and the girl timidly treading in her shadow, looked for all the world like a child following at her mother's back.
The muggy summer air turned cool and pleasant the instant they passed through the doors. Iseor's eyes swept frantically in every direction — the wide corridors, the faint scent of a diffuser, the luxurious tables and display cases. The ceilings soared. The floors were polished enough to throw back her own face. The clothes of the people coming and going were uniformly immaculate.
It was an unknown world she had never once set foot in across either of her two lives.
Leading the dazed girl along, 'Mother' headed upstairs without the slightest hesitation. Checking the storefront, Iseor's eyes went round.
Inside the shop bearing that nameplate, garments with broad shoulders and angular lines stood in ranks. Anyone could see it was a menswear store.
"Um, this is…?"
"Didn't I tell you? There's no need for you to become a girl. Pick something out first. As much as you like."
Iseor felt a flutter in her chest. Was it because they were in public? 'Mother's' tone was gentler, more tender than usual. It almost felt as though she really had come out shopping alone with her mom — a mom whose relationship with her had been repaired, who no longer drank.
It was a fleeting illusion.
…Ah.
The moment she met 'Mother's' eyes, the warmth filling her chest receded like the tide.
"Go on."
The woman's eyes, as she tipped her chin toward the interior of the store, were coldly extinguished. No — they had never been warm to begin with. There was no room in those eyes for soft words like affection or love.
Of course there wasn't.
Clutching her sinking heart, Iseor took a heavy step forward.
"Welcome."
A clerk approached with a thin smile. Iseor instinctively shrank back. She had felt the clerk's gaze sweep quickly over her body, flickering strangely as it crossed between her and the figure behind her. Beneath the shell of courtesy, undisguised suspicion. Iseor knew at once. It was a scene born of how differently she and 'Mother' were dressed.
I knew I shouldn't have come.
As the girl bit her lip, mocking herself inwardly, 'Mother' spoke.
"My child has always preferred dressing casually, ever since she was little. She's well past the age for that now, and yet she still insists on the same habits. So I thought we'd start by finding her something comfortable. I'd appreciate a few recommendations."
An elegant register, a low and even voice. Not a trace of vulgar ostentation or arrogance clung to it — only the measured courtesy and overwhelming composure that belonged to someone born already holding everything.
"Of course, ma'am. I understand perfectly."
Confronted with that bearing, the clerk's posture snapped taut, and she immediately bowed at the waist. The fact that the customer had gone out of her way to explain meant her initial reception had not been smooth enough. Straightening, she gestured inward.
"This way, please."
The clerk moved swiftly. She took Iseor's measurements, then in an instant selected several garments from the junior section and brought them over.
"Fortunately, your daughter's frame is rather petite, so there should be quite a few pieces that fit, ma'am. I've selected primarily from sizes with a bit of room, to allow for a growth spurt."
"Thank you. Go ahead and pick, Iseor."
The girl examined the clothes hanging on the portable rack one by one. There were five sets in total. Two of them were suits — similar in texture and cut to the boys' school uniform she currently wore. But she could not imagine wearing them out in public. They were too much.
Her gaze drifted sideways. There hung clothes that faithfully reflected the lie 'Mother' had just told: cool fabrics chosen with the summer heat in mind, garments in warm colors that were easy on the eyes. A far more practical, comfortable style. From among them, Iseor pointed to a shirt and a pair of pants — a white linen shirt and beige chinos.
"Will that do?"
"Yes."
'Mother' gave the pieces Iseor had chosen a brief, indifferent look, then pulled one more top and one more bottom from the hangers: a clean navy button-down, and a pair of shorts that fell neatly below the knee.
Up to that point, Iseor had been relatively at ease. The clothes they had picked so far did not look all that expensive, no matter how she looked at them.
That thought was soon shattered.
"Including alterations, eight hundred eighty-nine thousand eight hundred won."
"…?"
While Iseor stood stunned, 'Mother' produced a pitch-black card — one Iseor had never seen before.
"Please charge it to this. Including the alteration fees."
"Yes. Then, including alterations, I'll process a total of eight hundred eighty-nine thousand eight hundred won."
Iseor's gaze snapped toward 'Mother'. Fortunately, nothing face-burning like a declined card came out. Still, she could not feel at ease. Iseor knew better than anyone that they had no money at home. So where on earth was the money for this coming from?
Don't tell me… a loan?
The moment they left the store, Iseor whispered urgently.
"I'll pay you back with my part-time job money."
"What are you talking about?"
'Mother' stopped walking and turned her head.
"Don't be ridiculous. What kind of mother makes her child pay? Just take it and be quiet. Choosing the cheap places is already quite enough to put me in a foul mood."
Iseor stared blankly up at the monster's face. 'Mother's' always-composed brow was furrowed — the first significant change of expression she had ever seen. And the fact that she was still controlling her voice even then was almost impressive.
"But…"
"I will not hear objections."
An order that could not be refused. In the end, Iseor had no choice but to bow her head once more.
The sequence of events that followed was, for Iseor, a continuous stretch of bewilderment.
"Your total comes to one million two hundred nine thousand three hundred won."
"That's nine hundred fifty thousand won in total."
'Mother' went up and down the floors, stopping at four more stores — unisex clothing, women's wear, and shops specializing in accessories and bags. Starting with the women's wear store in particular, 'Mother' also picked out a few things for herself. And with that, the amounts being charged only swelled further.
…I think I'm going to lose my mind.
Iseor let out a small sigh. What was unfolding before her eyes was, to her, an act of insanity. Blowing millions of won on bags and clothes. If they had this kind of money, it would have been better to save it and think about other uses — like, say, finding a slightly more decent place to live.
This is so stupid.
Then, suddenly, Iseor found her own thoughts ridiculous. Right now she was naturally picturing a new house for the two of them. When had she started taking this life with that thing for granted?
Whether she knew what was going on inside Iseor's head or not, 'Mother' simply kept swiping her card, indifferent.
"It's raining."
The woman's remark, as she looked out through the glass, shattered Iseor's reverie.
A violent drumming erupted against the windows. Iseor jerked her head up. The sky the morning news had forecast as clear was now blanketed in pitch-black storm clouds, and thick, heavy rain lashed the floor-to-ceiling glass with a clamor.
"We'll have to have our meal here as well before we go."
"What?"
Only upon hearing those words did Iseor become aware of her own hunger. Apparently she had not even noticed she was hungry this whole time.
'Mother' immediately set off in one direction. The place they arrived at was a Western restaurant whose name even Iseor recognized. The moment she sat down, a thick fatigue washed over her — so much so that she could not even care that the new clothes they had bought at the menswear store as something to wear right away were getting wrinkled. Whether it was because she was experiencing all of this for the first time in her life, the drain on her mind and body was extreme.
"The child's stomach isn't well, so please just bring something mild and soft. I'll have this."
The meal passed quietly. It was what people would call a good-value restaurant, but being a Western restaurant, the prices were not cheap either. Still, she had no thought of objecting. She did not have the energy for it.
At least it's going into our bodies.
That was how she forced herself to make sense of it.
A little later, having recovered some composure, Iseor's gaze turned toward the opposite seat. Not a single sound came from 'Mother's' tableware. It was fascinating, the way the steak parted so smoothly beneath her knife. Elegant gestures. A posture that never wavered. A mouth that ate people was eating human food.
"Iseor."
At that call, Iseor snapped back to herself. 'Mother' set down her napkin and rose from her seat. A small metallic object slid across the table — the key to the coat check.
"Yes?"
"When you've finished eating, collect our things and wait in the chair in front of the coat check."
"Where are you going by yourself?"
The woman — the monster — looked down at Iseor in silence. In the center of irises steeped in deep darkness, a vivid crimson gleam flashed.
In that instant, Iseor's body went rigid.
Dessert. A perfectly ordinary word. But the girl knew instinctively that it absolutely did not mean an ordinary meal.
Thunder rolled in from beyond the windows. The restaurant interior was moderately dry and cool. But Iseor, somehow, was feeling the cold.
