The days that followed the disturbing revelations in Aera's letter ran into each other, each remembering a faint but deeply unsettling eroding of Seo-yeon's life.
It wasn't a precipitous collapse, but a slow, calculated unraveling, as if precious threads were relentlessly pulled from the rich tapestry of her life, producing frayed ends and an intensifying sense of vulnerability. What were initially slight inconveniences coalesced into a chilling pattern of deliberate isolation.
Her professional life, which had been such a lively terrain of creative challenges and collective energy, started to atrophy and dwindle. The consistent flow of studio tasks, which had not only given her the sense of utility but also an important barometer of autonomy, somehow evaporated.
