B'shert

There are scars and there are Marks

Chapter Twelve

Hiii! So like since I go long periods without updating I was like what the hell here....this is for jackassprincess! Thanks for everyone who's reading! Votes and comments make my day:D

Raven doesn't really celebrate her birthday.

This is once again a result of her upbringing. Because the people of Azarath didn't really celebrate birthdays (While gifts were exchanged and a blessing given it wasn't really a THING) and Hell...well its hell, and she never really told the team the day. And considering the fact that she's already found someone she considers her soulmate it's not that surprising that she forgets the eighteenth anniversary of her birth (like she'd forgotten the seventeenth until two days after the date.)

But really she SHOULD have remembered her eighteenth birthday because it's on her eighteenth birthday that her soul mark would burn its way onto her skin.

It's just discomfort at first, not enough to draw her out of her nightmares. But then the discomfort turns to pain, a searing pain and the shadows in her mind slip away as she wakes up with a gasp. Feeling like all the air has been knocked out of her lungs. She clutches at the area behind her shoulder, where the burn is. She doesn't scream, she can't. She just grits her teeth and sits there, the sweat rolling off her forehead as her mark carves its way onto her skin. The letters spelling out the name of her soul mate.

She'd completely forgotten.

While she had never really had a way to prove that Damian was her soul mate and not just a very close bond mate with whom her past self may have had romantic entanglements with, she'd just accepted it as fact.

She had liked Damian, and when it had turned out he returned her feelings she'd just come to associate the word 'Soulmate' with him. She WANTED her mark to be his name. But the truth was that at this point it didn't matter. Even if her mark said otherwise, HE was her soul mate. She chose him. She loved him (so, so much) and the mark wouldn't change that. (Just because magical beings had soul mates, didn't mean that they always worked out or that they even tried.) (But she still did hope it was him because she loved him and loved the idea of love that dies not in the tomb.)She focuses on these thoughts, on training on anything that distracts her from the pain. (It's a belief that the pain is how the soul felt when it was ripped in half in the first place.) She tried to distract herself, but when it comes to her, there's a difference between distracting herself and letting her mind get away from her. Right now, the latter is what's happening.

She has flashbacks then.

Visions of Azarath, her father, of Talia Al ghul and memories that aren't hers. She tries to block them out but they flow and crash like a tsunami and she's caught, helpless in the face of its powerful current. Whipping back and forth with no control. And then there's white, and voices and then its over- she can breathe again. And she collapses onto her back (which she regrets because the skin around her shoulder still hurts.)

She lays there breathing heavily for a few moments before wiping the sweat from her forehead and willing herself to get up. She pads over to her full length mirror, turning the lights on with a flick of her wrist. She looks at herself in the mirror taking in her pale skin, and sweat damp short dark hair. (She'd tried growing it out but it had gotten annoying.) She turns her back to the mirror, taking a deep breath before pulling her crop top over her head. There's a moment of fear, because while, if her mark has another name she will definitely still love Damian (because how can she not?)...But what If he doesn't feel the same way? What if he thinks she lied? What if...?

She takes another breath and shakes away the dark stupid thoughts because those are her inner demons talking. Damian loves her as much as she loves him and will have her as long as she'll have him. She looks over her shoulder and her eyes land on the spot a bit above her left shoulder blade.

There it is, her mark.