The winter he never left

Chapter 8: The Garden of First Lies

The sun barely reached the path that wound through the ancient garden—its light dimmed as if afraid to trespass. The overgrown hedges curved like cathedral arches, cradling silence between their branches. It was a garden forgotten by the world but never by those who had bled, wept, or cursed beneath its withered trees. Ji-hye had dreamed of this place too many times to count, yet every visit still made her breath catch.

She stood at the entrance, staring through the rusted gate. The iron bars were twisted with vines, thick with blossoms that shouldn't bloom in summer—lavender, black roses, nightshade. Each flower had its own memory, and each memory had a cost.

Eun-woo stepped beside her, his hand brushing hers but never quite grasping it. "You're sure it started here?"

She nodded, eyes fixed on the cracked marble fountain at the center of the garden. It no longer held water—just dead leaves and broken shards of offerings that had been left by those seeking to appease the old gods.

"This was where I first saw her die," Ji-hye whispered. "Over and over again."

---

The wind shifted suddenly, stirring the air like a sigh.

They entered slowly, feet crunching on gravel, past the remnants of benches warped by rain and time. The trees formed a canopy above, swallowing their shadows.

Eun-woo reached into his coat, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. The map they'd found in the hidden archive of Yonggwan Folklore Institute—half-burnt, half-bloodied, but legible enough to lead them here.

At the center of the garden stood a broken altar. Runes were carved into its face—some faded, others glowing faintly with unnatural light. Ji-hye touched them, feeling heat pulse beneath her fingertips. A whisper echoed in her head, like wind through reeds:

> "The one who remembers bears the weight. The one who forgets is cursed to repeat."

A soft creaking noise broke the air.

They turned to see an old woman standing beneath the moon-blanched branches of the poison tree—the tree where Seorin had died. Her shawl was tattered lace, her eyes covered with a silk blindfold. Her lips were purple as if stained with berries—or blood.

"Who—?" Eun-woo began.

"I am the Curse Keeper," she said, voice like gravel dragged across stone. "You stand in the garden of the first lie, child. Are you here to break the pact, or to fulfill it?"

Ji-hye stepped forward. "We want to end it."

"Then choose," the Curse Keeper rasped, raising a hand. "The truth... or her life?"

"What does that mean?" Ji-hye asked, her voice trembling.

"If you seek to save the girl from the fire, someone must burn in her place."

---

Suddenly, the garden trembled. A strange light pierced the treetops as if the moon itself cracked open. Time unraveled in silk ribbons before them. The world blurred, and then froze—like a paused film.

The air split.

And when it stitched itself back together, Ji-hye stood in her old school uniform, holding her younger self's diary. Eun-woo was beside her, but he looked different—cleaner, unscarred, as though the past had peeled back his wounds.

They were no longer alone.

The sky was dark crimson, and in the center of the clearing stood Seorin.

Alive.

She turned to Ji-hye slowly. "Why are you here again?" she asked.

Ji-hye's knees weakened. Her voice was lost.

Eun-woo stepped forward, frozen in place, lips parting to speak, but the Curse Keeper's voice echoed through the sky like thunder:

> "Every lie you buried will bloom again. Every name forgotten will return. Choose before the clock resets."

The fountain behind them began to flow—not with water, but with smoke. In it, faces appeared—Ji-hye's, Seorin's, Eun-woo's—and then others they hadn't met yet.

Ji-hye reached toward Seorin, but her fingers passed through her like mist. The girl stared straight through her with eyes that shimmered with tears.

> "You said you'd stay," Seorin whispered. "But you let me die again."

Suddenly, Ji-hye remembered the date. The very same day Seorin died—the cycle was resetting.

They had one chance.

"Come on," Ji-hye said, grabbing Eun-woo's arm. "We're reliving the day of her death. If we can change it, we can break the curse."

Eun-woo looked at her. "But at what cost?"

The garden began to pulse like a beating heart. The past and present collided—and from the trees, shadows began to pour in. Masked figures, each representing a version of them that failed.

"Run," Ji-hye said. "But this time... we don't run away from the fire. We run into it."