@lee siwoo the splendour of the winter landscape couldn't dispel the sense of desolation that hung in the air, so frigid and biting against his unguarded face. except for each breath exhaled materializing in front, as an impermanent white fog that remains suspended for several seconds, then dissipates soon after.
the sun was nothing but a pale orb on the icy blue sky, casting exaggerated, long shadows while he trudged along the serpentine tarmac road dusted by the snowy powder, leading to an unfamiliar destination— riesling avenue.
his body cocooned by a thick wool peacoat (shade of an absymal midnight) that reached upto his knees and a handwoven cashmere scarf securely wreathed around his neck. both hands residing in the warmer confinements of his coat pockets.
wonjae could hear the crisp sound of snow scrunching underneath his rugged, insulated pair of boots partially covered by his black dress pants.
a knot of apprehension tightened at the pit of his belly, as he approached the designated house.
'house no 2003'
the building was colossal, imposing even. his old burgundy gloved hands make an appearance, worn-leather knuckles knocking on the door, aloud after pressing the doorbell.