Grisha used to laugh at the legends, at his childhood friends who happily paired off and convinced themselves that it was fate. Really, was the world so filled with besotted romantics that no one ever thought to question the idea that humans were born with one perfect mate? And that something so convenient or so incidental as a dream or a birthmark could draw the destined lovers together?
He refused to participate in the insipid discussions his agemates had about marks and songs and dreams and whether they might be that kind of dream. Foolishness. He had dreams himself, of course, but he never read more into it than that his peaceful, sleeping mind conjured up an image to soothe him. Kind brown eyes, a strong mouth, a warm voice—none of that actually meant anything.
He made the mistake of arguing to an acquaintance once that were he ever to fall in love, it would be no surprise if he superimposed the feelings the dream gave him onto his lover. It was a nice dream, after all. That didn't mean that the person in the dream was in anyway real or meant for him. The acquaintance of course chose to bypass the intent of Grisha's words and move directly on to the breathless question, "Oooh, do you think that it was that kind of dream, maybe?"
After that, whenever Grisha felt himself slipping into that familiar dream, he pushed it back fiercely, wanting no part in the foolishness of the less critically minded. Over time, the dream faded, though it never truly left him.
He kept to himself, mostly. Apprenticed to the district's best healer. Studied. Became entangled in things he would rather have left untouched. Became a doctor himself, a man of science. Returned home. He set up a proper clinic, not like the soap-and-a-prayer operation his elderly master had made do with.
He was proud of his life, but it became increasingly difficult to convey his contentment to others. No matter what he said, his friends continued to offer their unsolicited sympathy and encouragement—nothing yet, Jaegar? Don't worry, it'll happen soon enough—as time passed and he remained partnerless. At first, he laughed off their concern. His life was full, and he felt no need to blind himself with foolish coincidence or obsession into thinking it was meant to be any fuller.
His thirty-fifth birthday came and went, and his laugh wasn't so full, nor so frequent as it used to be.
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Soul Tattoo (Ereri)
Fanfictiontat•too /taˈto͞o/ Noun: 1. An evening drum or bugle signal recalling soldiers to their quarters. 2. A design made in such a way. Humanity had different ways of finding their one, their other half, their soulmate, the end of their red string. But th...
