Prologue
The light seeped into my room, dancing across my cream coloured walls; it’s golden rays blinding in the early morning. It trailed its way over the dozens of photos and quotes splattered across my walls, making its path through various objects and trinkets that lined my shelves and furniture. The photos lining my walls consisted of the reminiscent years of my life, like an old drive in the movie of a girl so insignificant like me; friends and family, boyfriends and first times. Old memories that would dwell in my brain, soon to be nothing compared to the future that is soon to come.
It seemed as if the sun was in a good mood, it’s rays gliding through my room like a dancer performing with love. It radiated this sense of content, the generous glow of true and utter happiness that would seem to signal a good day. But for someone like me, a girl who hated the mornings, it proved quite annoying regardless of its iridescent light. And trust me, being woken out of your slumber by the sun didn’t quite help the beginning of my grand mood of the day.
I groaned at its urgency; it’s lack of compassion for my beauty sleep. However, the restlessness from the night before beckoned for me to get me up. Shifting under the layers of covers from my queen sized bed, I rubbed the sleep from my already droopy mono eyelids. I trudged to the private bathroom of my room, splashing some irritatingly cold water on my face in hopes of waking me up some more.
What didn’t wake me up though, was the sun and it’s annoying glow. Instead, my wishes of still being wrapped in those ridiculous big and comforting blankets in that dreamlike state were broken from one thing. It was the itchy sensation etching the skin of my pale wrist. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but ‘alright’ would be an understatement.
Without much thought I rubbed the area of irritation, soon realizing the difference in texture from the day before. It was bumpy in texture, nothing like the skin on my wrist.
Confused, I looked at the text etched on my wrist. Its delicate and fine print sprinkled across the area of my wrist to inner arm. The cursive font running rapidly like a cheetah after its prey.
A tattoo.
The pitch black ink writing, flowing blacker than my soul with its additional aesthetic of cherry blossoms and soft pink shadings lining the outer corners.
I knew I hadn’t made any last minute terrible decisions the night before leading to this remarkable artwork, so it had to be there for a reason. A simple reason, though the more you think about it, the reason was not so simple after all. A crazy reason, but in the later future, would become my sanity. It was remarkable, me only 16, yet with the ink of an 18 year-old getting her tattoo for the first time.
My soulmate.
It couldn’t be, I wasn’t supposed to get that for another two years. The age to get your soulmate, permanently scrolled onto your skin only happens when you are eighteen years of age, right? How? Did that mean I had met them without realization? Or was I going to meet them? How was it possible to have this?
Could it possibly be a mistake? No, there was no mistakes. Not with this.
What surprised me even more was the text written. Inked across my skin, permanently. Permanent.
Jeon Jungkook.
