I call it a myth. (ON HOLD)

Around 100 years ago a girl called Isabella Little started to develop a natural tattoo. Growing from the edge of her right eye, it winded round her ear, spread across her neck and snaked down her left arm, finally fading at the tip of the middle finger. The black mark branched out in wisps, swirling patterns covering the right side of her face and her whole arm. At the same time a boy, named Max Grave grew his. Starting by twisting up his right arm and spiralling round his neck. It crossed his jaw line and finished by his ear, hiding in the crook. People say these two were joined from childhood. People say the line is a mark. Formed from intense emotion. People say they were chosen. The ones who are chosen, special. Born to fight against the ones trying to stop human feeling. Those who say it can't be strong enough. Those saying we would be better off without them. These two would be tested. Facing obstacles impossible to cross. Hurdles that test the limits of humanity. All done with one incentive. One reason behind not giving up. One reason to cross the finish. People call it the love line. I call it a myth. Well, called.