In the heart of a sleepy village, where cobblestone streets whispered secrets and jasmine vines clung to ancient walls, there lived two souls destined for tragedy: WolShim and YiSun.

WolShim, with her lustrous long hair and eyes like storm clouds, was the daughter of the village astronomer. She spent her nights on the rooftop, tracing constellations with her fingertips. Her heart yearned for the cosmos, for a love as vast as the night sky.

YiSun, on the other hand, was a blacksmith's apprentice. His hands were calloused from shaping iron, and his dreams were forged in fire. He had no time for stars or fanciful tales-until he saw YiSun on that rooftop.

One moonlit night, as the constellations aligned, their paths intersected. WolShim was perched on the edge, her fingers reaching for Orion's Belt. YiSun climbed the trellis, drawn by her ethereal beauty.

"WolShim-ah," he whispered, "why do you seek the stars?"

She turned, her eyes wide. "To find my missing constellation," she said. "The one that completes my story."

YiSun laughed. "Constellations are but myths," he said. "Foolish tales spun by lonely hearts."

But WolShim was undeterred. She pointed to a patch of sky. "See that gap? There should be a constellation there-a lover's embrace."

And so, they made a pact. Each night, they would search the heavens together, weaving stories of lost stars and broken hearts. Their love bloomed like a forgotten constellation, hidden from the world.

But fate, like a capricious wind, changed course. YiSun's master fell ill, and he was bound to the forge. WolShim's father discovered their secret meetings and forbade her from the rooftop.

Desperate, they devised a plan. They would meet at midnight, under the ancient oak-their secret sanctuary. There, they whispered vows and kissed under the shooting stars.

But love, like the phases of the moon, waned. YiSun's hands grew rougher, and WolShim's eyes lost their starlight. The village gossiped, and her father's wrath grew.

One stormy night, as rain lashed the rooftops, WolShim waited by the oak. But YiSun never came. His absence carved a void in her chest-a missing constellation.

She climbed the trellis, her heart pounding. The rooftop was empty, the stars indifferent. And there, etched into the tiles, was a single word: "Forgive."

YiSun had left her a farewell-a love letter in stone. He had sailed away, seeking fortune beyond the horizon.

WolShim wept, her tears mingling with rain. She traced Orion's Belt, its three stars mocking her. The lover's embrace remained incomplete.

Years passed. Wolshim became the village recluse, her lustrous curls now silver threads. She tended her father's observatory, whispering to the stars.

And then, one frost-kissed night, a stranger arrived-a blacksmith with eyes like constellations. His hands were calloused, but his heart held a missing piece.

"WolShim-ah," he said, "I've sailed across oceans, seeking the forgotten constellations."

She blinked. "Who are you?"

He smiled. "I am YiSun, the blacksmith who left you a word in stone."

And there, under the same ancient oak, they embraced-a love reunited, a constellation reborn.