Vision

There was no escaping the destiny of the mark. Even if they hated each other, even if it was a loveless relationship, even if they never met again, he would be hers and she his.

Rey would never have another lover, never be wed to another, never be in love again. She could choose to live with him or without him, but that was it. Her vision of what her life would be like changed in an instant, when she met Ben Solo.

"I don't like him," Rey said, helplessly staring at Rose in the mirror of the ladies room. "He's too sad."

Rey had run into the bathroom after a formal introduction to writer Ben Solo, who had started working in the English Department. Rose had already met him at the faulty mixer the night before. Both Rey and Rose had been on the committee to bring him to the University. His writing was dark, full of hard imagery and despondent prose. Stories of loss and wrecked families, death, destruction. Not at all what Rey wanted to read. It was good writing, to be fully fair. Just depressing.

"Ben Solo has a reason to be sad," Rose said. "He lost his family."

"I don't know what to do, then," Rey said. Her vision blurred. It could not be true.

Her soulmark had popped out the minute she met him.

She felt it itch on her wrist at first, when Ben Solo walked into the first formal department meeting. She thought she was allergic to something.

She had scratched her wrist, idly, not looking at it, waiting for the sensation to stop or dull, as any itch does after a moment. Even as she sat through the introduction of this new writer-in-residence, this stone-faced man, she felt the welts raise up further. The mark bit into her skin until she realized what was itching her.

She felt sick and didn't dare look. His name would be on her wrist. Ben Solo.

She had to shake his hand and the mark burned her, the itch turning to sharp pain as the mark blossomed further.

Ben must have felt it, too. His eyes widened as they touched hands.

His suit coat covered his wrist, but hers was bare. He turned her arm sideways to see the mark, angry red script, carved into her skin.

It still itched. Rey dropped Ben's hand to rub it. He started to speak, but Rey mumbled an excuse me and ran.

Rey cornered her friend Rose in the bathroom and showed her the mark.

"He is not my type," Rey said, holding her wrist. "He has no expression whatsoever on his face. What do I do? I can't be this man's mate."

Rose gave Rey a sorrowful look.

No matter what, Rey was Ben's mate and she would be his forever.