❝In the tale of fate, the red string connects us all, but not every thread leads to a soulmate.❞
In a world where love is entwined with fate, an abandoned conductor escapes the confines of an unnatural train into a universe he's forgotten.
As he nav...
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The conductor's feet pounded against the pavement, his breath sharp in the cold night air. Fireworks cracked and bloomed above him, their vibrant bursts reflecting off the lake's surface in a shimmering wave of light and shadow.
Among the scattered revelers, he saw her, the woman who'd just won the familiar ticket. Her face—though barely illuminated—held a soft beam of happiness that felt almost unreachable to him, but the ticket in her hand haunted him more than her appearance.
"Miss!" he shouted, his voice cracking, pushing through the crowd as she walked towards the bridge spanning the small lake. She didn't hear him. He surged forward, weaving between groups of people, his pulse quickening with every step.
Just as she reached the crest of the bridge, she paused, as if sensing his presence, and turned around. The conductor caught up, grabbing her arm in desperation. "Wait," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. His grip was firm but not rough, yet enough to alarm her.
The sky exploded behind them with more fireworks, lighting up her face in hues of red, gold, and violet.
His eyes flickered to her pinky finger, searching desperately for a red string—something to tell him she had a soulmate waiting somewhere, but there was nothing. No string. No connection. His heart sank.
The woman stared at him, wide-eyed, her face scrunching in confusion. "What do you want?" she demanded, trying to pull away from him.
The conductor, realizing the intensity of his actions, dropped to his knees, his heart in his throat. "Please," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Please, you can't board that train. You don't understand what it is. You'll be trapped, just like I was. You have no soulmate that ticket isn't meant for you."
She pulled her arm back, eyes darting around nervously as she took a step away from him. "What are you talking about? What train?"
He shook his head vigorously. "No, no, that thing you won is not just a prize. It's not some game. That ticket," He glanced at the slip of paper in her hand as if it were a ghost from his past. "That ticket will ruin you. You might never come back. You might be stuck, trapped between worlds forever."
His fingers trembled as he reached for her foot, desperate. "Please," he choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of centuries of anguish. "I don't know you, but I can't watch this happen again. Not to you."
The woman stared down at him, disbelief written across her face. He was begging, crying over something that didn't make sense to her. But there was something in his eyes—a depth, an exhaustion—that unsettled her. He didn't look mad, or crazed. He looked broken.
"Are you drunk?" She judged his shabby appearance first.
"No. You have to trust me. I'm not joking. I'm not drunk."
"Alright," she said, a little uncomfortable and disgusted, allowing him to get back on his feet. "Alright, what do you want me to do?"
"I need to get to the booth from where you got that ticket. The prize."
"This?" She pulled out the piece of paper from her coat. "Sure, I'll take you there," she sighed.
He nodded, the relief palpable in his body, his breaths coming out in ragged sighs as they walked back together. He kept his head down, afraid that at any moment, the train would appear again, pulling him back into its grasp.
They approached the booth where she had won the ticket. But as they neared the spot, the woman's steps faltered, and her heart dropped into her stomach.
The booth was gone.
She slowed, frowning. "It was right here," she whispered, her voice tinged with confusion. She turned around in a slow circle, looking for the stand amidst the fading fairground lights, but there was nothing. No booth, no attendant, no prizes. Just a patch of overgrown grass and weeds.
"Where...?" She glanced at him, her earlier skepticism fading, replaced by a growing unease. "It was right here. I'm sure of it."
He took a hesitant step forward, the patch of ground calling to him like a century-old friend. In the middle of the wild, untamed grass, a single primrose bloomed, its petals glowing faintly in the dim light, as if marking the spot where the booth had once stood.
The woman stared at the land, speechless, her hand clutching the ticket so tightly it crumpled in her fist. "What the hell is going on?" she whispered, the tension thick in her voice.
The conductor remained silent, his eyes fixed on the primrose. He didn't have answers but now he knew how Bound Line Express spread its tickets to the common population. The first step was to create a longing for something you don't need to live: a soulmate.
A cheap marketing technique.
The fireworks continued to explode above them, but the night had grown eerily quiet.
