The cathedral was silent, only flickering candles illuminated the broken windows. Seonghwa stood there, like a figure from a dream clad in black, his hands folded as if in prayer, as if he were beseeching for salvation. But when you entered the room, he opened his eyes, and in them there was no holiness, only temptation. "They call me an angel," he whispered, his fingers gliding over the cool stone bench. "But you know exactly what I truly am." Your knees trembled as his silhouette, silhouetted 