Writings of a Lover

Eighteen

 Marinette woke up to be eighteen.

It was funny, she thought, how age worked. How one morning you could be seventeen then the next eighteen. Then nineteen. Then twenty. And it went on and on and on and on. It was similar to that of how days and weeks and months and years all functioned. She found herself questioning the laws of time itself. How it could be possible that one minute it was April and then the next May. It was quite odd, she noted.

Marinette had always loved the change, though. The sweet smells of summer and the chilly winter nights. Watching the stars and moon pass by the night sky from her rooftop, as though it was just a pitstop, a detour to get to the real destination that they were heading too. That was how she thought of most of the things in her life. A simple "pitstop" or speed bump. And she always kept moving after that! After all, what kind of a person would she be if she let a little bump in the road become a huge roadblock in her life?

Being that she liked change, Marinette also liked birthdays. The significance of them, the parties, the presents, the cake. The list was endless, really! Just the concept of having an entire day just for you to celebrate the beginning of your life was fascinating! And so, she enjoyed each and every party that she received each and every year. She lived and breathed it as though she wouldn't have a next one. Perhaps she wouldn't.

But this particular birthday was even more special than all the others. She was eighteen now. And the tradition would finally take its toll on her.

The"tradition" was an ancient ritual that had been going on for many years. The magic always took place when any human boy or girl turned eighteen. All the elders in their village told the tale of the markings with great pride, for it was their responsibility. They spoke of times where the markings didn't exist and how everyone just ran wild, searching for their soulmates. It was funny when they told stories of how some ended up with others soulmates. Quite ridiculous, actually, as they fought and broke off very quickly. Then there were those who simply could not find their kindred spirit, even when they spent their entire life searching! Those stories were quite sad, actually. It pained Marinette to even think about spending her entire life alone. She could only begin to imagine how those poor people felt.

Nobody really knew how the tradition started, all they know is that it just did. Somewhere along the sand of time and centuries of yearn for another, the markings made their...well, mark. Nobody knows who put them there, nobody knows why or even when they came to be. They just were! And Marinette liked it better that way.

To be honest, she couldn't think of a time where the markings weren't a thing. She couldn't even begin to imagine a world without them. To her, the markings were apart of everyday life. They were as normal as the trees and the sky and just as necessary as eating and breathing! Without them, the world would be a chaotic mess!

What was the "tradition"? Well, the legend went that whenever a human being became a full and grown adult (eighteen years of age), the first words that their soulmate would say to them were tattooed on their body. It wasn't usually in an awkward spot (though she had heard of some embarrassing stories where the tattoos appeared in quite obvious or...embarrassing places), simply on the arm or the hind leg. And, from what she had heard from her best friend, Alya, first reading what the words were was an "out of body" experience. She had heard of some really good ones! Another friend of hers had showed up to college one day with a tattoo on her neck reading "Pardon me, but I couldn't help but notice that you look stunning." A week later, she met her "one and only" at a bar. He said those exact words to her! She hadn't met this one, but rumour had it that somebody's said "I'll gladly die for you." If that wasn't romantic, Marinette didn't know what was! Alya's herself was "Wow. You have really pretty eyes!". So cute!