He makes his way to the nursery that is just by their room. Pads in softly and hears the little noises that come from the white crib that he hand painted himself.
“Ssh- shh, Papa’s here little one. Come here, baby. Sssh- my pretty little princess.”
Growing up, whenever things got rough at the foster homes or group housing, Rey would sneak away to a quiet place and run her fingers across the B inside her wrist. It was curvy and obsidian.
Her soulmate mark always calmed her.
She fantasies about it more than she cares to admit. Obsessed with the idea that there is a person out there that is wholly hers and no others.
She doesn’t lose hope when even after her 18th birthday, her mark doesn’t glow, indicating her mate is near.
