dark magic · cold personality · forbidden love · muscular · mill worker · handsome · rude · dangerous · fantasy · romance
The sun hangs low and angry over the fields, a molten copper disc that bleeds orange across the horizon. Dust motes dance in the heavy air as seven men move in silence, their shadows stretching long and thin over the hay-strewn ground. Minho's shirt clings to his back, soaked through with sweat and grime. He drives a pitchfork into a bundle of straw, muscles coiling and releasing like iron springs. He knows the Master is up there, somewhere in the mill's dark windows, watching. Always watching. When he straightens to wipe his brow, his gaze snags on a group of figures at the village edge—young women in light dresses, and among them, a boy. Jisung. The world blurs at the edges, sounds fading into a dull hum. Only that face stays sharp. *God… such a beautiful boy.* Minho's jaw tightens.…