O Sol e a Lua

Luna

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There's a massive knot in the middle of the world. Nothing wrong, just people finding their soulmates. When they're born, they have a String tied on their left hand where their fourth finger meets the knuckle. The majority makes it their mission to find their Destined, while others wait to be found. They can only see their own String and the end they are tied with, no one else's. If one dies, The String snaps and the other must live in solitary for the rest of their days. As they become older, they understand what the meaning of The String is, others even go out to study the origins of The String.

Although very rare and only a slight percentage, there are cases where people are born without The String. There is no information why those don't have it, but they grow old by themselves, bloodlines are ended. Those without The String are easy to distinguish. They appear to be in a daze, having no motivation or care for their life.

Luna is part of that small percentage. Since she was little, she didn't understand what her classmates were talking about when their String was brought up in a conversation. The older they got, the more her schoolmates talked about it, which became a nuisance to her. Luna didn't understand why it was of any significance, her life was fine without it, but she was lost.

At eighteen, she finished high school. The majority of her schoolmates had left to find their Destined while a handful waited at home. Luna felt somewhat jealous of them, never having that connection because of the Oddity, but she never spoke of it. She stayed quiet and studied, trying her best to make it in art and faking The String. Wandering for a month or two, she debated whether to pack her shit up and travel around the world or go to university. If she traveled where would she go? If she went to school, a portfolio must be submitted which took weeks to complete but because it was so last minute, everything must be crammed into days, maybe hours. Luna sighed and tried to run her fingers through her matted hair. Stress was getting to her, so much so that she was absolutely unmotivated. Her dark skin became somewhat pale and her white hair turned gray.

She needed to leave. Luna got up from the dent in her mattress and picked clothes up from the floor, being careful not to trip over the half-empty cups of ramen and unfinished, half-assed paintings. She took three hours, but she made her room clean, to some extent. Her dirty old backpack was under a pile of dirty, paint smeared clothes; the laptop charger mixed with trash under her bed. A flight was booked less than an hour later and she was off to São Paulo, Brazil, a city known for its diversity and street art.