VULNERABILITY IN AWE

She stood, draped in delicate silk that clung to her naked form with an almost ethereal grace. The fabric folded and flowed over her curves, whispering secrets of elegance and fragility. It shimmered in the dim light, each crease and fold capturing a fleeting moment of beauty. Everything around her seemed pale, as if drained of color and life, casting a melancholic hue.

A broken wing hung forlornly at her right, feathers tattered and lifeless, a symbol of dreams shattered and hopes lost. She clung desperately to the shattered remnants of her left wing, her grip tight and unyielding, as if trying to hold on to what little remained. Her face, serious, marked by silent agony, spoke of profound sadness.

A single black tear traced a solemn path down her cheek, a poignant symbol of her sorrow and resilience. A heart-wrenching moment suspended in time.

The agony of broken hopes was nothing compared to the searing sting of betrayal. The ultimate betrayal from the world cut deeper than any physical wound, a wound that time could never heal. The betrayal felt more excruciating than the loss of her wing, piercing her soul with a relentless ache.

Lost the very essence of emotions, a betrayal leaving her hollow and desolate. All that remained were the shattered fragments of a broken wing and a flicker of desperation, a desperate spark clinging to life in a world that had turned its back on her.

A round of applause echoed in the hall the moment that scarlet velvet left her uncovered. Vulnerable in front of hundreds of eyes, ogling her partial covered skin in awe.

Jungkook seemed genuinely pleased by the reaction of his admirers, their applause echoing through the hall like a warm embrace. He stood smiling beside his creation, a work of art that beautifully captured the essence of lost hopes and betrayal. Each gaze that lingered on the piece reflected a connection to the pain and resilience it portrayed, and Jungkook felt a profound sense of fulfilment, knowing his vision resonated so deeply with others.

"Thank you so much for resonating with my thoughts and appreciating my hard work." Jungkook bowed deeply to the crowd before returning to his seat.

"Now we shall begin the auction," announced the auctioneer, his voice ringing through the hall. The room buzzed with excitement as the initial bid was announced. The anticipation was palpable among the wealthy patrons, each eager to place their bid, keen to flash their money to make the rich fellas look poor. But before anyone could raise their paddle, Jungkook stood up, halting the auction.

"Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but today's auction is not going to follow the usual rules," he declared, his voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. Shocked whispers and gasps filled the room as everyone turned their attention back to him.

"Today," Jungkook continued, his voice laden with intensity, "I will choose who among you is worthy to possess the embodiment of my blood, sweat, and tears." With that, he flashed a victorious smirk, his confidence radiating through the room, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

Jeon Jungkook. Most renowned sculptors and artists in Korea. Celebrated for his exquisite marble sculptures and intricate pottery, each piece reflects his meticulous craftsmanship and creative vision.

Jungkook never lets his artwork go to someone not worthy of the knowledge and philosophy that he has embarked in his creations. He cares deeply for his creations and believes they must be adorned by someone worthy of their beauty and meaning. His dedication to ensuring his art finds a deserving home underscores his commitment to preserving the integrity and spirit of his work.

The auctioneer cleared his throat, recovering everyone from the bomb the artisan just dropped. "Very well, let the auction begin!" he declared, a note of excitement in his voice.

The room buzzed with renewed energy. Bids were placed rapidly, hands shooting up as the numbers climbed higher and higher. The competition was fierce, each bidder eager to prove their worthiness not just with money, but with their passion and appreciation for the art.

"One hundred thousand dollars!" A lady in red silk with black fur bid, casting a victorious grin at everyone who glared at her.

Jungkook observed the scene carefully, his discerning eye-catching every nuance of the bidders' reactions.

"Two hundred thousand!" Another competitive lady, unwilling to accept defeat, raised her paddle, giving the chic woman a dirty smirk. Though older, she didn't look old, with dark brown hair streaked with white. Her blue dress clung to her skin, accentuating every curve. Black gloves adorned her hands, each finger sparkling with diamond jewels. Her bold lipstick made it clear she intended to steal the spotlight tonight. Her eyes gleamed with a spark of ego, a belief that no one was above her. But her confidence was soon shattered.

A short, round man in a black tuxedo spoke up, his round black hat covering his half-balding head, a short grey moustache sitting under a very sharp big nose. His sagging skin made him appear very old. With a gentle yet commanding voice, he declared, "Five hundred thousand dollars is my stand!"

The hall once again filled with gasps and murmurs. Nobody had seen this man before. A newcomer, who had never spoken a word until now, just dropped a bomb on every single elite present. Some tried to get a good look at him, but his hat covered most of his features. Jungkook gave a gentle smile to the gentleman.

"So—"

"Seven hundred thousand dollars!" the lady in red paddled once again, this time with a slight frustration in her voice and a very pissed-off look in her eyes. The situation quickly accelerated from a harmless auction to a fierce, competitive bid.

Jungkook sensed the tension and knew exactly what needed to be done.

"Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars is my bid," the old gentleman spoke, his voice steady and determined.

"Eight hundred thousand dollars—"

"Thank you, ma'am," Jungkook interjected, rushing to the microphone and bowing towards the lady before the amount could rise any higher. "Thank you, sir," he showed his respect to both.

"Starting with you, Mrs. Soojin Fleur," he said, turning to the lady who had raised her eyebrow in surprise. The auction assistant handed her a microphone.

Mrs. Soojin took a deep breath, her expression softening slightly. "Your work is truly captivating, Jungkook. The vulnerability it portrays resonates deeply with me. It speaks to the struggles of women in our society, and I feel a profound connection to it. As a woman entrepreneur, I resonate with how difficult it is to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with these men who get it so easily." Her indirect pinching words made everyone glare at her, some simply rolled their eyes on her nonsense. 

Jungkook nodded appreciatively before turning his attention to the old gentleman, not wasting much more time.

"And you, sir?" Jungkook asked, his eyes meeting the man beneath the shadow of his hat. There was an unwavering confidence in the man, believing wholeheartedly that he truly deserved 'Isolde'.

The old fella stared at the splendor for a few moments before speaking, "It is not about a man or a woman." He looked straight into the artisan's eyes. 

"Broken wings, the broken fragments of hope that she clings to, thinking that someone would fix it." The man pointed at the figure, "An ethereal grace broken from inside that's why she seems so radiant but dull at the same time. Her emotionless eyes represent the realization of being left to fend for herself." There was an empathy in his voice. 

"A black tear," he sighed, "represents the oath of revenge. Revenge to the world that simply stared at her when she couldn't cover herself up and awed her vulnerability with pride."  The atmosphere was different now. Everyone seemed to be struck by his perception. 

Jungkook stood in silence for a moment, his gaze fixed on the old man who had just finished speaking. His heart swelled with a mixture of emotions—gratitude, validation, and a profound sense of being understood. Slowly, he began to clap, each sound echoing softly in the room, a gesture of deep appreciation for the man's words. The whole crowd seemed to have understood the words too started applauding for him. 

Jungkook's applause tapering off, felt compelled to bridge the gap of anonymity that separated them. With a genuine curiosity, he asked, "May I know your name?" The question hung in the air, tinged with respect and a desire to acknowledge the person who had seen beyond the surface of his art. 
 
"Kim." That was the man spoke.

"Mr. Kim," Jungkook smiled, "Isolde, belongs to you."

 Every elite seemed to agree with the decision except for one. Mrs. Soojin Fleur.

"OH, please. Be sensible!" Snapped the lady in blue, her voice thick with arrogance. With a disdainful huff, she lifted her desiger bag, nose in the air, and made her way to the exit. Each step was heavy with defiance, her stilettos striking the floor with a purpose. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, the action meant to be dismissive but coming off as petulant. The door swung shut behind her with a loud bang, the room left buzzing with whispers about her inflated ego and graceless departure. Fleur's grace was disgraced by her utter self.