The photographer gave a sharp signal, his voice cutting through the damp silence. "We're ready! Joon-ho, Mirae, let's go! The light is shifting—we only have a narrow window before the fog burns off!"
Joon-ho turned toward the van. He walked with a steady, purposeful stride, the gravel shifting beneath his boots. As he opened the door, the warmth of the interior spilled out, smelling of expensive makeup and the faint, sweet scent of Mirae's perfume.
Mirae was now fully awake, though her eyes were still heavy with sleep. She was dressed in the elaborate, flowing robes of the Priestess, her hair styled in a way that made her look like a fragile, timeless entity. The makeup artist had finished her work, giving her a ghostly, ethereal glow that made her look as though she were made of moonlight and mist. She looked stunning, but as she looked up at Joon-ho, her expression was one of soft, lingering drowsiness.
"Is it time already?" she murmured, her voice a sleepy, honeyed whisper.
