The crisp autumn air of Hyde Park carried the faint scent of damp earth and distant coal smoke, a typical London afternoon in the late Victorian era. Carriages clattered along the perimeter, their polished wheels kicking up dry leaves, while elegantly dressed ladies in rustling silks and bustles strolled arm-in-arm, their parasols twirling like delicate flowers. Amidst this meticulously choreographed display of societal grace, sat Moonbyul.

She was an anomaly, a splash of defiant indigo in a sea of prescribed femininity. Perched on a wrought-iron bench beneath a sprawling oak, she wasn't engaged in polite conversation or a demure needlework project. Instead, her long legs, clad in tailored, dark worsted trousers, were casually crossed, one sturdy brown boot resting comfortably on the other. A waistcoat of deep, rich blue hugged her frame, accentuating a lean, athletic build quite unlike the corseted silhouettes of her peers. A pristine white shirt peeked from beneath, its collar unbuttoned just so, and tucked into the waistcoat pocket, a silver fob chain glinted softly. Her dark hair, short and artfully dishevelled, framed a face that was both sharp and serene as she bent over an impressively thick tome. It was no sentimental novel or book of verse; a quick, daring glance might reveal a title on astronomy or ancient history, subjects deemed scandalous for a lady's delicate mind.

Moonbyul didn't seem to notice the hushed whispers that followed her like a shadow, or the scandalized glares from severe-faced matrons, their expressions a mixture of outrage and morbid fascination. Nor did she outwardly acknowledge the lingering, admiring glances from younger women, whose eyes lingered on her confident posture, her audacious attire, and the sheer, unburdened freedom she exuded. Moonbyul was, undeniably, popular with "the girls," a magnetic and forbidden figure who embodied dreams of liberation many dared not even voice

Lost within the pages of her book, a treatise on stellar cartography, she was only drawn back to the present by a faint, unfamiliar scent – lily of the valley and something subtly metallic, like rain on iron. A shadow fell over her page, momentarily obscuring the intricate diagrams. Moonbyul slowly raised her head, her dark eyes, intelligent and unwavering, meeting another pair.

Standing before her was a woman, perhaps a few years her senior, dressed in a fashionable visiting gown of deep emerald green. Her hat, adorned with delicate silk roses, framed a face of startling beauty, but it was her eyes – a luminous hazel – that truly captured Moonbyul’s attention.

"May I help you miss? What's your name?" moonbyul asked