Chapter 98: The House of Forgotten Things
The Thorn Crown estate exhaled the scent of damp rot and burnt time.
Jungkook stood just beyond the rusted gate, the ground
beneath him cracked and tangled with weeds. V moved ahead first, his every step
measured, sweeping the perimeter with eyes sharpened by years of caution.
Taehyung remained beside Jungkook, his hand firmly on the younger’s lower back,
a silent reassurance that he wasn't alone this time.
“I remember the door,” Jungkook murmured, his voice thinner
than wind. “It was blue once. With iron studs. They used to drag it shut when I
was bad…”
V paused at the entrance. “It’s still here,” he said,
inspecting the iron-laced wood. “Barely holding together, but still locked.”
Jungkook stepped forward. There was a gnarled metal plate on
the side, its engravings faded.
He reached out before either twin could stop him and pressed
his palm to the center.
Click.
The door creaked open.
No key. No code. Just blood memory.
Inside, the air was heavy with mildew, shadow, and something
worse—something metallic and sterile. The kind of silence only trauma could
seal into wood and stone.
The main hall was enormous—archways leading off in all
directions, staircases curling up and around like a predator’s ribs. A single
chandelier dangled from the high ceiling, its crystals clouded with dust. The
light that spilled in through broken windows painted everything in ash and
sepia.
Koo's fingers brushed along the wall as he walked, the
wallpaper flaking beneath his touch.
"I used to draw here," he said faintly. "With
chalk. Until they punished me."
“What kind of punishment?” Taehyung asked softly, but there
was an edge to his voice—protective, deadly.
Koo didn't answer.
He led them down a long corridor that grew narrower with
every step.
They passed doors—some bolted shut from the outside. Others
wide open, revealing rooms empty except for a single chair, a mirror, or rusted
medical equipment. Some had scribbles on the walls. Childlike. Repeating the
same shapes, the same name.
“Jeon Kook.”
Koo’s breath caught.
“That was me,” he whispered. “Before they changed it. They
said Jungkook sounded too soft. They wanted me to be hard. Silent. I didn’t
even get to pick my name.”
The twins were quiet. V placed a hand on his shoulder,
grounding him.
As they descended into the lower level, a strange hush
settled over the space. The basement was colder, darker. The lights no longer
worked.
Taehyung used his phone's flashlight, sweeping it across the
hallway until it landed on something metallic.
A door.
Unlike the others, this one wasn’t rusted or broken. It
stood sealed, pristine, almost untouched by time. There were numbers engraved
into the plate beside it: “Room 12-Ω.”
Koo walked to it like he’d done it a thousand times before.
He didn’t need a key.
He simply reached for the panel and pressed his fingers into
the groove along the edge. A low mechanical click echoed, followed by the slow,
heavy sound of gears unlocking.
When the door opened, the air changed.
The room was clinical. White. Sterile. A single chair sat in
the center, surrounded by metal panels, pulleys, hooks.
And on the far wall—a series of canvases.
Real canvases.
Paintings. Some half-finished, some chaotic. All done by a
trembling hand in silence.
“I painted these,” Koo said, voice trembling. “Before I knew
what colors meant. Before I knew what freedom meant.”
Taehyung stepped inside slowly, scanning the room. His gaze
froze on a screen embedded in the wall—dead now, but connected to something
much darker.
“Surveillance,” he murmured. “This wasn’t a punishment room.
It was an observation cell.”
V approached the paintings. His eyes scanned the strokes,
the color choices—so dark, yet heartbreakingly intricate. All of them framed
pain as beauty.
In the center of the canvas was a recurring image:
A child with wide eyes and ink-stained hands.
Always alone.
Always looking at the door.
Koo’s breathing hitched.
“I was never crazy,” he said, tears slipping down his
cheeks. “They wanted me to be. But I wasn’t. I was just... alone.”
The twins didn’t need words.
V walked to him first, wrapping strong arms around his
trembling frame. Taehyung followed, holding both of them close.
“You’ll never be alone again,” Taehyung whispered, burying
his face in Koo’s shoulder.
“You were never crazy,” V added softly. “You were
surviving.”
Koo sobbed quietly between them, but this time, the pain was
unraveling. Like a knot finally loosening.
Hours later – back at the estate…
The twins didn't let Koo out of their sight. He was quiet,
withdrawn, but his eyes were no longer haunted—they were processing. Healing.
They helped him bathe, carefully washing the dust and
memories off his skin. Their touches were reverent, soothing. No rush. No
pressure. Just quiet worship.
In the candlelit bath, Koo leaned against Taehyung’s chest
while V sat behind him, tracing soft circles over his shoulders.
“Will I ever feel normal again?” he asked, voice fragile.
V pressed a kiss to his nape. “You’re already more than
normal, love. You’re alive. And that’s more than they ever expected of you.”
Taehyung chuckled against his hair. “You survived them all,
baby. That makes you a king in our book.”
Koo turned slightly, eyes glassy but smiling.
“I like being your prince.”
“Our naughty, spoiled, chaotic little prince,” V smirked,
nipping lightly at his ear.
Koo giggled, the sound echoing gently in the steamy air.
And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel broken. He
felt cherished.
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