The Goblin’s Bride (Completed)

“What’s this?” Dong-yi asked, her cheeks flushing as the man held something out to her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t recognize it. She knew exactly what it was—a pair of delicate leather shoes, embroidered with peach blossoms. But the sight of them, the thought that he’d chosen them for her, made her heart flutter.

“They’re for you,” he said simply. “I saw them while passing through a market. Thought they’d suit you.”

Dong-yi took the shoes reverently, running her fingers over the soft leather before pressing one against her foot.

“They’re perfect,” she murmured, her smile growing.

“Then wear them,” he said. “Don’t just leave them sitting in a corner.”

“But they’re so beautiful. I’d hate to ruin them in the dirt.”

“If they wear out, I’ll buy you another pair. Don’t hold back.”

Dong-yi’s smile faltered slightly. “But this year’s another bad harvest,” she said, placing the shoes carefully aside and picking up her sewing. Her hands busied themselves with the quilted jacket she was making for him. She’d chosen the fabric and gathered the stuffing herself, wanting to ensure he stayed warm through the winter.

“It is,” he replied evenly.

“They say it’s been nearly twenty years of famine in some places,” she continued. “People are starving. It’s not as bad here, but in other villages…”

“It’s what happens when the land can’t hold the rain,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Rain alone isn’t enough. If the ground can’t absorb it, famine follows.”

“How does land ‘hold’ water?” she asked, pausing her stitching.

“With reservoirs,” he explained. “Large ones. They store water during heavy rains, so there’s enough during droughts. They also keep floods from destroying the fields.”

“That sounds complicated,” she said, shaking her head. “Digging such a thing would take hundreds of people, working for years.”

“It would,” he said. “But I’d rather spend those years building a reservoir than endure decades of famine.”

“But people can’t focus on just one thing,” she countered. “They have to tend their crops, too.”

“Then they’ll endure famine forever,” he said with a shrug.

She smiled faintly, glancing at him. “Well, I’ve never gone hungry because of you. If you weren’t here, I probably would’ve starved long ago.”

He didn’t respond to that, only smiled quietly.

After a moment, she asked, her voice soft, “How did you know to come here? That day, after my mother left.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head.

“How did you know? You came the very next day. It’s almost like you knew.”

“It was a coincidence.”

“A coincidence?” She laughed lightly. “And then you just decided to stay?”

“I did,” he said with a slight nod.

“What happened to the place you lived before?” she asked hesitantly. It was a question she’d never dared to ask before. Surely he must have had somewhere to go before he arrived here.

“There was no one left there,” he said simply.

“Were you alone?”

“I was.”

“For how long?”

“A long time,” he admitted.

She fell silent for a moment, processing his answer. Then, quietly, she said, “Then we’re alike, aren’t we? You didn’t have a family. Neither did I. But now, we’re family.”

The word felt warm and comforting as it left her lips. Family. It filled the room like sunlight spilling through a window.

“We’re family now,” she repeated, her smile soft and content.

“You should build a real family of your own,” he replied, his voice tinged with something she couldn’t place.

“You’re my real family,” she insisted.

Her words hung in the air as she pressed her needle through the fabric, only for it to slip, piercing her finger.

“Ah!” she yelped, drawing back her hand as a bead of blood welled up.

“Are you hurt?” He was beside her in an instant, kneeling down to take her hand in his. Before she could say a word, he lifted her finger to his lips and sucked gently at the wound.

Dong-yi froze, her breath catching as she watched him. His closeness, the warmth of his touch—it made her heart race. The pain in her finger faded almost immediately, but she couldn’t look away.

When he finally released her hand, his voice was gentle. “Be careful.”

“I will,” she whispered, turning slightly away from him.

She stared at her finger, still glistening with his saliva. On impulse, she raised it to her lips, her tongue brushing lightly over the same spot. A shiver ran through her as she imagined his tongue against hers, the thought sending a wave of heat through her chest.

It’s just a silly imitation, she told herself, her cheeks burning.

But her heart didn’t listen. It raced wildly, filling her mind with impossible thoughts and forbidden wishes.

She stole a glance at him, but he had already turned away, unaware of the turmoil he’d stirred within her.

I shouldn’t think like this, she thought, clutching her sewing tightly. But how can I not?

The memory of his touch lingered, as warm and enduring as the shoes he’d given her. Like those shoes, she knew she couldn’t keep her feelings pristine and untouched forever. But for now, she let herself hold onto them, just a little while longer.

Dong-yi knew the truth. Deep down, she understood.

It wasn’t real. None of it was real.

She awoke suddenly, her throat dry and parched. The room was pitch black, the heavy weight of night pressing against the walls. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and turned toward the other bedding.

Empty.

“Uncle?” she called softly, her voice cracking in the stillness.

The sight of the vacant bedding sent a shiver through her. Where could he have gone in the dead of night? She swallowed hard, telling herself it was nothing. Maybe he had gone to the kitchen for water, just as she was about to.

Slipping her feet into her shoes, she stepped out into the cool air and padded toward the kitchen. But when she pushed open the door, the room was empty.

“Strange…” she murmured, glancing around.

She checked the backyard next. Then the shed. Then the perimeter of the house. He was nowhere to be found.

Her heart began to pound. “He wouldn’t leave without telling me,” she whispered to herself, though the words felt more like a plea than a certainty.

The memory of her mother surfaced, unbidden. Her mother, who had also left without a word, abandoning her all those years ago. The thought struck her like a cold blade. If he left her too…

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “He’s not like that.”

But her growing unease refused to settle. Wandering further from the house, she suddenly froze.

Water.

The faint, rhythmic splash of water echoed through the darkness. Her heart leapt in relief. He must be at the well.

Quickening her pace, she moved toward the sound. The closer she got, the more distinct the noise became: the sound of water being drawn and poured.

She slowed as she neared the well, the moonlight filtering through the trees. Peeking from behind a tree, she caught sight of him.

Her uncle.

He stood by the well, his tall frame unmistakable. But something was wrong. He wasn’t just drawing water—he was washing himself. And his body was smeared with something dark. Something thick.

Blood.

Her breath hitched.

It was everywhere—his arms, his chest, his hands. Even from a distance, she could see the crimson stains against his pale skin, glistening under the moonlight.

Her mind raced. Was he hurt? But no—he moved with ease, his actions methodical and unhurried. If he were injured, wouldn’t he be treating the wound instead of washing?

Then… Whose blood was it?

A chill ran down her spine. She pressed herself tightly against the tree, her nails digging into the bark. Part of her wanted to step forward, to demand an explanation. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

Instead, she turned and fled, her feet carrying her back to the house before she could think. She slipped under her blanket and pulled it over her head, her breathing rapid and shallow.

Moments later, the door creaked open.

She froze, her body rigid under the covers. The familiar sound of his quiet footsteps reached her ears as he entered the room. She heard him settle onto his bedding and let out a soft sigh, as if nothing had happened.

Her heart thudded painfully. Does he know I saw him? she wondered, barely daring to breathe.

She lay still, her mind churning. What was that? Why was he covered in blood? What is he hiding from me?

For the first time in her life, she felt a sliver of fear toward him—not for her safety, but for what she might uncover if she asked the wrong question.

By morning, everything felt… normal. Too normal.

The man moved about the house as if nothing had happened, his face calm, his actions steady. Dong-yi almost convinced herself it had been a dream. Almost.