The most common thing people have is a necklace, with a crystal-like pendant that glows in the vicinity of the destined Half.
Some people have tattoos that correspond with your Half's.
Other persons have a strip of their Half's hair color that changes accordingly if one decides to dye their hair.
The most rare of all is blindness of the other's eye color. In this rarity, when you meet your Half and look into their eyes, it'll be the first time you see that certain color, and you'll fall in love, yadda, yadda, ya, and then you'll live Happily Ever After, yadda, yadda, ya.
Instead of breaking your heart and soul over and over through trial and error.
I've read about that world, and it sounds really horrible.
But people always, somehow, find their love against all odds, and go on with their happy lives; the ups and downs, and 'getting through's.
They have it good in my opinion, because there is still a 50% chance that they'll find love again.
But here, there's a seven-year time bracket for when you're supposed to meet your Half. It starts at seventeen and ends at twenty-four years old.
But once you pass that time bracket, you'd better just down some bleach or jump off a cliff, since life would be completely and utterly useless without them.
It sounds harsh, but it's true. I've seen it first hand.
It was my brother, Jupiter.
Like everyone else, he traveled the world in his twenty-third year, and even during his twenty-fourth year. Once he got to his twenty-fifth year however, he sank into depression, and in his twenty-sixth year, I watched on with his friends and my family as his casket was lowered into the ground, my parents crying bloody murder, and his best friends cursing the Gods above, below and all around us.
I was numb. I didn't know what to feel at all. But there was this horrifying feeling set in my mind and a knot in my gut that told me that I would have the same fate, no matter how many times I shook it off or got reassurance from my friends who already did have their Half.
I envied those who found their love more than I'd like to admit, but my role model, my aunt Janice, lived for forty-five years without her Half.
According to her, "Forging your own piece to yourself is better than sitting around and waiting for it to come running into your arms and sweeping you away from your troubles."
I really want to take her advice and shout, "Blasphemy!", like she did; but when you watch all your friends find their Half and attend their wedding mere months later while you're halfway through your twenty-fifth year with no hope of finding your Half, you'd want to take the easy way out too like Jupiter did.
But there's one thing about Ginevra Morgenstern. She does not take the easy way out.
Universe, prepare yourself.
I shall trumpet the beautiful word 'blasphemy' to every corner of your vastness, nice and loud.