"I would describe it like a room: a dark room that sits alone and still in the cold. There is no color but a black that consumes all else. The room itself is empty, a shell, waiting for her touch. The only thing that makes the room what it is other than an empty chamber, is the thin, suffocated, beam of light." "Twining around my ring finger on my right hand, barbed and sharp, thorny and black, the single delicate rosebud that emits from the strangling vines seeming to cry out, its delicate petals reaching up for the sun and away from the thorns below. Piercing, suffocating, caging. This tattoo on my finger, this strangling hoop. My circle of thorns." - Park Jimin has dreamed of his soulmate since the day he turned eighteen. He's witnessed others find their soulmates, and read through countless novels of love. But it's time to learn that there's a reason they are only fictional. No one is the same, no life is mirrored, and no choice is made in the same way, but what if it was not a decision but an effect. Sometimes thoughts are not our own. Sometimes we've gone too far to remember the way back. And sometimes ink isn't enough.