Hyun-soo's voice, a fragile breath of the distant past, dangled suspended on the tape, the sudden cutoff of noise more terrifying than the noise itself. He was, rather, wondering if he should call it to the front, or at least fight with himself as to whether the horrific truths about to come out into the open ever should actually be brought into the light at all, whether anyone could bear the weight of such knowledge.
The fug of silence that lay afterward was, rather, oppressive, charged with unvoiced sorrow, and the over-blasting weight of seven years of frantic, secret despair,. "You remember the fire," he finally uttered, his own voice hollow, devoid of the vital vigor and sonorous passion Seo-yeon recalled in his living voice.
It was a diminished voice, a voice stripped to the raw husk of sorrow.
