Malachi had never visited the states – he had never had any reason to, and figured he never would. The young girl’s vivid descriptions of her home almost could have made him regret that fact.

A farm on lots of open land, mountains rising in the distance. Trees to climb when, as she put it, weather permitted. Although far more talkative all around, Mable seemed well-spoken and articulate like her brother, with that same foreign accent sometimes reminiscent of his own.

“That must have been beautiful,” he said, though he struggled to imagine it. England was beautiful in its own way, but Malachi had never spent much time in a place as open and… and as fresh as Mable made her home sound.

He lived in old buildings, surrounded by a faith older still. He moved, and moved, but did not settle down. He met many people and learned the ins and outs of their whole lives, but he was not known to them.

“Oh, I…”

That dreaded question again. He came from nowhere, he wanted to say, and had nothing of interest to tell. He tried to imagine a farm like the one she described, but he thought of a cellar door instead.

“I’m from the kingdom of Joseon.” Malachi glanced down at her, and clarified, “Korea.”

Had it truly been as calm as he remembered? He had been so young when he left.

“We lived in a place called Naganeupseong. There was a wall around the whole village, and for years I never knew what was beyond it. Once I was old enough to walk, I used to go all the way up the tallest hill, and every day I'd try to see over it,” and when his parents returned to their hut after dark to find him gone, they had always known where to look.

Back then – when his reasoning skills were rudimentary, his logic only that of a child – he thought his curiosity had brought a curse upon them. If only he had been content with the things he could see, he’d thought, nothing would’ve dragged him outside of that wall.

Now he could barely remember what it had looked like inside.

“Then… my father brought me to London, and that’s where I grew up. It’s a lot more…”

How to put it kindly…

“Crowded, there. The air feels different. It has its charm, but I prefer it here where there’s space to breathe. I came here to Whitby because St. Hilda’s – my church – needed a new parish priest, and the bishop sent me.”

The bishop hated him, more accurately, and liked uprooting him any chance he got. But Mable didn’t need to hear about that.