Porcelain { Epilogue }
{ PROLOGUE } { ONE } { TWO } { THREE } { FOUR } { FIVE } { SIX } { SEVEN }
Epilogue
2013
Have you heard the tale of Foxcombe House?
It whistles through tight gaps in the doorways, singing out a song of loss and despair. A warm heart once beat behind its elegant façade and blood pumped through veins that creaked like the broken foundations scarcely holding it together. Barely a century on and still nobody has dared to set foot beyond its porch to revive what had withered. The whispers of an ethereal figure prowling the corridors at night has kept them away. In the end, it had all wilted into the ashes just as the climbing roses had done.
Engulfed by flames set alight by a broken heart, or so the legend goes.
The mystery of the fire was never solved. In truth, it was never even investigated. The people presumed a mere accident caused the destruction of the once beautiful manor and the loss of life of one particular resident. Soon after, the family and their employees disappeared from local knowledge and blended into tales told by children, only to evolve into ghost stories of ghouls haunting ash-coated corridors.
There was, however, one soul that managed to piece together parts of the truth. This soul - a man who looked very different from the locals - carried with him the key to many dark secrets that first bloomed at Foxcombe house all those years ago. With it, he traced the Wu family back to Seoul where Jessica, no doubt, could finally breathe happily and give birth to a healthy baby girl. The competition in Europe regarding the porcelain trade had made Kristopher rethink his future in London and retreat back to the Far East under the council of his beloved wife. With him went most of Foxcombe’s employees, but not all. A certain Kim Jongin and Oh Sehun’s history was hard to piece together a century on, although they did remain in England to make a life for themselves in the capital. A close friend was unearthed to spill their unusual secrets and revealed the boys’ end. It turned out that, when Sehun finally saw Jongin’s death over 60 years later, he was too far gone in his own madness that he never witnessed that painful reality, although Jongin lived with the agony of his lover’s dark descent until the end of his days. This story was pure speculation, however.
A certain heir had suffered his own downfall barely a year after the fire with the plundering of his company’s excessive funds. Lu Han managed to accumulate enough debt to render himself penniless. As a result, the young Soojung was said to have broken off the engagement under fear for his mental stability and, instead, settled down with a certain shipping merchant’s son for a luxurious life in the Mediterranean. Lu Han took a pistol to his skull in the winter of 1916.
The history was certainly entertaining.
It was this that brought the man to visit Foxcombe himself. He toured the forgotten gardens and peeked inside the broken shell that once gleamed so brightly in its day. The realtor tapped his clipboard.
“The house has been derelict for almost a century. Its foundations are in need of some serious work, as you have seen. The funds for this project would be more than extensive; if anything, it might be cheaper to knock the building down altogether and start afresh.”
The man smiled. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I want to restore it to its former glory. It’s the whole reason I’m here.”
“As you wish. We can sort out the paperwork immediately. If you’d like to follow me to the office, Mr Kim, we can get the ball rolling.”
“Wonderful.”
The realtor walked away and left Kim Minseok so stare up at the ruins he was about to invest his life savings into. Under his arm was tucked a leather-bound book that once belonged to his great-grandfather, the same book that he’d discovered on his great-grandfather’s death tucked away in the old man’s attic in suburban outer London. It was the key to Foxcombe’s secrets and inside lay a plethora of stories of a secret love hidden behind its walls.
It was time to make his own stories, Minseok thought; to piece together his own memories for generations from the dust of another. Hopefully then the house may shine just as brightly as before; delicate and glamorous while ghosts with broken hearts found peace within its hallways but never dusted its surface - the same ghost that was said to carry an unopened bundle in his hands and lurk at windows that looked out over the rose gardens and dream of the lover he left behind; the boy with alabaster skin.
Like porcelain.
----------------------------------------------------------
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it :3
Now excuse me while I sob into my blanket ;~;
If for any reason you want to find me, I'm usually on my tumblr: kimjongasm.tumblr.com
Other completed fics: Supernova [XiuHan/57k]
Epilogue
2013
Have you heard the tale of Foxcombe House?
It whistles through tight gaps in the doorways, singing out a song of loss and despair. A warm heart once beat behind its elegant façade and blood pumped through veins that creaked like the broken foundations scarcely holding it together. Barely a century on and still nobody has dared to set foot beyond its porch to revive what had withered. The whispers of an ethereal figure prowling the corridors at night has kept them away. In the end, it had all wilted into the ashes just as the climbing roses had done.
Engulfed by flames set alight by a broken heart, or so the legend goes.
The mystery of the fire was never solved. In truth, it was never even investigated. The people presumed a mere accident caused the destruction of the once beautiful manor and the loss of life of one particular resident. Soon after, the family and their employees disappeared from local knowledge and blended into tales told by children, only to evolve into ghost stories of ghouls haunting ash-coated corridors.
There was, however, one soul that managed to piece together parts of the truth. This soul - a man who looked very different from the locals - carried with him the key to many dark secrets that first bloomed at Foxcombe house all those years ago. With it, he traced the Wu family back to Seoul where Jessica, no doubt, could finally breathe happily and give birth to a healthy baby girl. The competition in Europe regarding the porcelain trade had made Kristopher rethink his future in London and retreat back to the Far East under the council of his beloved wife. With him went most of Foxcombe’s employees, but not all. A certain Kim Jongin and Oh Sehun’s history was hard to piece together a century on, although they did remain in England to make a life for themselves in the capital. A close friend was unearthed to spill their unusual secrets and revealed the boys’ end. It turned out that, when Sehun finally saw Jongin’s death over 60 years later, he was too far gone in his own madness that he never witnessed that painful reality, although Jongin lived with the agony of his lover’s dark descent until the end of his days. This story was pure speculation, however.
A certain heir had suffered his own downfall barely a year after the fire with the plundering of his company’s excessive funds. Lu Han managed to accumulate enough debt to render himself penniless. As a result, the young Soojung was said to have broken off the engagement under fear for his mental stability and, instead, settled down with a certain shipping merchant’s son for a luxurious life in the Mediterranean. Lu Han took a pistol to his skull in the winter of 1916.
The history was certainly entertaining.
It was this that brought the man to visit Foxcombe himself. He toured the forgotten gardens and peeked inside the broken shell that once gleamed so brightly in its day. The realtor tapped his clipboard.
“The house has been derelict for almost a century. Its foundations are in need of some serious work, as you have seen. The funds for this project would be more than extensive; if anything, it might be cheaper to knock the building down altogether and start afresh.”
The man smiled. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I want to restore it to its former glory. It’s the whole reason I’m here.”
“As you wish. We can sort out the paperwork immediately. If you’d like to follow me to the office, Mr Kim, we can get the ball rolling.”
“Wonderful.”
The realtor walked away and left Kim Minseok so stare up at the ruins he was about to invest his life savings into. Under his arm was tucked a leather-bound book that once belonged to his great-grandfather, the same book that he’d discovered on his great-grandfather’s death tucked away in the old man’s attic in suburban outer London. It was the key to Foxcombe’s secrets and inside lay a plethora of stories of a secret love hidden behind its walls.
It was time to make his own stories, Minseok thought; to piece together his own memories for generations from the dust of another. Hopefully then the house may shine just as brightly as before; delicate and glamorous while ghosts with broken hearts found peace within its hallways but never dusted its surface - the same ghost that was said to carry an unopened bundle in his hands and lurk at windows that looked out over the rose gardens and dream of the lover he left behind; the boy with alabaster skin.
Like porcelain.
----------------------------------------------------------
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it :3
Now excuse me while I sob into my blanket ;~;
If for any reason you want to find me, I'm usually on my tumblr: kimjongasm.tumblr.com
Other completed fics: Supernova [XiuHan/57k]