Carpe Diem

As Charlotte and Engfa stepped back into the grand exhibition hall, the energy had shifted. The once lively hum of conversation dulled into a murmur, the lights dimming as an air of anticipation settled over the room.

Then, the massive projector screen flickered to life.

A dark figure emerged, standing against a shifting, abstract backdrop. No details of the person could be seen, just the silhouette—tall, poised, unmistakably commanding.

Morrigan.

A modulated voice filled the vast hall, rich and deliberate, slightly altered to conceal the speaker's identity. Yet, despite the distortion, there was a gravity to the words, something that silenced even the most indifferent guests.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. Your presence, your passion, and your appreciation for art—these are the things that keep me creating."

Charlotte felt a tightness in her chest. She had recorded these words days ago, knowing this moment would come, yet hearing them now in this grand setting, in front of this audience, felt surreal.

"Art is more than beauty. More than chaos. More than a reflection of the world we live in. It is a weapon—a tool of rebellion, of revelation, of change."

The murmur in the crowd stilled. Even the wealthiest, most detached collectors found themselves listening.

"Society buries its worst sins beneath luxury, beneath power, beneath silence. I refuse to let silence win."

Charlotte could hear a few people inhale sharply. She had been bold in her wording—she knew that. Morrigan was not meant to be a comfortable artist.

"That is why, for the duration of my exhibitions in South Korea, all proceeds will go toward the 'Eomma's Haven Foundation'—a refuge for women and children, for those whose voices have been stolen, for those who have been forced to survive rather than live."

A ripple of emotion spread through the crowd. Some murmured in admiration, others in surprise. Even those who had come purely for the prestige of the event found themselves affected.

"Art is only powerful if it does something. Let it do something."

And with that, the silhouette gave a slow, solemn bow—and then faded into darkness.

Silence.

Then, applause.

A deep, resounding wave of claps spread through the gallery. Some guests whispered to one another, others remained still, absorbing what they had just heard.

Charlotte exhaled, forcing her body to remain still, her expression carefully neutral. No one could know.

Beside her, Engfa let out a low whistle.

"Damn," she muttered.

Charlotte turned slightly, trying to read her expression. "What?"

Engfa tilted her head, arms crossed, eyes still fixed on the now-empty screen. "That was... kinda badass. I expected some cryptic artist nonsense, but Morrigan actually has something to...say."

Charlotte blinked. Was that... praise? From Engfa?

Before she could react, she noticed movement near the front of the crowd.

Yoko.

The young woman had stepped forward, closer than anyone else, her eyes locked onto the screen as if she could pull Morrigan back into existence by sheer will alone.

Her sharp features were softer now, her lips slightly parted, hands clenched into fists by her sides as if trying to hold onto something intangible.

Charlotte's stomach twisted.