Hana walked alone down a mildly dark alleyway, her hands clutching newly bought materials. She had just come from an authentic shop that prioritized high-end art supplies—a true haven for aspiring artists like herself.
"Ah, the scent of fresh oil paint," she whispered. "The only genuine smell left in this city. A clean beginning for a clean purpose."
But as she walked, she sensed it. A faint shadow followed her from a distance. It was subtle, yet for someone like Hana, it was impossible to miss.
There it is, she thought. Subtle. Amateur, even. But persistent. I felt it the moment I left the store. Such a predictable energy.
She chose to ignore it for now, curious to see how long the shadow would last.
"It's following me... this is tiresome. A dog on a leash. How long will this little game last before its handler gets bored? I won't ignore a threat, but I certainly won't rush a curiosity."
Through the malls, the supermarkets, the fountain park, and the terminal, the shadow remained. She just doesn't give up, does she? Hana thought. It would be no fun to call her out immediately.
Hana wove through the crowd at the terminal, briefly glancing back over her shoulder with an almost imperceptible smile.
Malls, the park, now the terminal. She doesn't give up. The determination is... admirable, but inefficient. If she wanted me, she would have taken me by now. She's watching, not hunting. Interesting. I've gained myself a watcher.
Hana began to play with her pursuer. She pretended to be unaware, yet she would look back whenever she felt a surge in the stranger's presence. She knew someone was there; she just couldn't prove who—yet.
She kept up the pace of their "hide and seek," taking quick breaks on park benches to pretend to admire the fountains while sneakily glancing at the hiding shadow.
Let her think she's being sneaky. I can trace her every pace, every hesitant stop. I just can't prove who or what she is. Not yet. But proof will come to the patient mind.
As night fell and the shadows began to fade into the general gloom of the city, Hana decided the game was over.
"I see the shadow has lost track of the distance... or perhaps they've simply grown tired. Nevertheless, I've had enough of this game. I'm going home."
Her house was ordinary enough from the outside. It sat a bit far from the neighborhood, but not so far as to arouse suspicion. However, it was not the home of an average person. It was luxurious—a two-story structure with a fancy rooftop offering a perfect view of the cityscape.
Inside, she had her studio. Unlike other artists, her work appeared almost childish, yet it screamed professionalism—reminiscent of Picasso's peculiar, high-value masterpieces. Scribbles of colors, shapes, and forms were aligned and misaligned simultaneously. Even Michelangelo might have called it a masterpiece of the abstract.
But she didn't paint this way on purpose. Behind those navy-blue eyes was a condition only she could see. She saw the world as a child's drawing—a coping mechanism born from childhood trauma.
Hana descended into the basement, her expression softening. "Home. Quiet. No shadows here. Only stillness. My true work awaits."
This was her favorite part of the house. Here, she kept her human-sized, man-made dolls. She was obsessed with their construction, making them so unique and specific that they could be sold for a fortune. But she kept these for herself.
She noticed one doll had a small crack forming. Alarmed but not panicked, she took a brush and paste, beginning to repaint the area.
"Failure is unacceptable. Even minor decay must be corrected instantly. They deserve that perfection. The world tried to ruin their innocence, but I gave them sacred order. My work is superior to chance. My work is love."
When she finished, she smiled warmly at the doll. "Hah... I should have used more paste for you, dear. It would be a waste if you failed your preservation... my work of art."
She caressed the face gently, terrified she might break the masterpiece. She chuckled softly. "I am the only one who truly appreciates your purity."
Despite the beauty of the realistic dolls, something felt deeply wrong. Why were they so... distinctive? Why did each one feel so hauntingly individual?
Hana went to the bathroom, where the walls were craftily painted with luminous pigments. The tiles were covered in Lilies of the Valley—bright, striking reds standing out against shades of lavender blue. It matched her personality perfectly.
She dipped herself into the bathtub, surrounded by warm water and petals.
"The Lilies of the Valley, the red, the lavender blue. All chaos reduced to a pattern. A luminous pattern. My comfort."
She touched her chest. "Is the water warm already? How come I still feel cold? I feel something cold within me..."
Later, dressed in her comfortable nightgown, she sat in bed and picked up a children's book from her shelf.
"Ah... now I realize. It's actually the absence of the chase. The return to the perfect, desolate quiet. Perhaps the shadow was distracting me from the sheer volume of my own solitude. A cold emptiness where a messy, human connection should be."
She browsed the pages as if reading them for the first time, her excitement like that of a child. A soft smile beamed from her face as the low light illuminated her.
"A comforting ritual. The old stories were so simple. Good, bad, victory. Nothing like the complexity of real purity and real evil."
She looked out at the dark cityscape one last time. "I wonder if the shadow will follow me again tomorrow. If they keep doing that... I won't be able to do my work."
As she drifted to sleep, vivid illustrations began to flutter through her eigengrau.
"I need to know her pattern before I remove her. She is a distraction... and distractions are a form of..."
"...Corruption."