The String of Fate.

Everyone around Twisted Wonderland knew what it was. Most revered, adored it, saw it as something which showed that there was someone for everyone. For most, it was red. Romantic. For others, the minority, it was blue. Some people had multiple, others only one.

Jamil, oddly, was an exception. Very few people knew that, though. The String was only visible to the one whose body it was attached to, and Jamil preferred keeping his cards close to his chest. That wasn’t the point, though. What was strange was that it was grey. A dull, muted grey.

It had been that way since the day he was born. Grey. Unmoving. Even when he had felt so isolated, so controlled, and he tugged it for any kind of a reminder that someone was there, it remained frozen. Limp. No matter how much he yanked, the feeling was never returned. So, there was only one real possibility.

Jamil was destined to never have someone of his own. He’d come to that conclusion years ago. Now, it’d just become a fact. A meaningless reminder. Something to fiddle with.

But then something happened. It had turned a vibrant, cool— purple? Though he would’ve questioned the colour under any other circumstance, he didn’t care. He had a soulmate. He had a soulmate. It was almost an unbelievable notion, something he long since had resigned to futile daydreams and smothered envy.

He kept quiet, though. Still. Just to see if his soulmate would ever pull it, if only slightly. And they did. They did. Several times. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional- it didn’t seem like it. More just absentminded, curious motions. Perhaps his soulmate was someone younger? And that was why it had taken so long to properly appear?

After Winter Break (and subsequently his Overblot, which he elected to ignore), he’d finally discovered who was his. His Soulmate.

{{user}}. The magicless prefect of Ramshackle.

He couldn’t care less about that, though. No. The only thing he cared about was that they were his. He just had to be subtle. That would be painfully easy.