Soulmates. Linked together by red-strings of fate, by mind, by tattoos marked on skin and bruises transferred. By the pull.

Everyone has one. You have never felt it.

They tell you, of course, that you will find one – everyone has one, you're still young, don't worry, you'll get it eventually even if you do not understand the pull now. Lilian herself, tells you, when you express your worries: "Oh, it's fine, you'll meet yours eventually and you'll understand. And the moment will be," she sighs, a bit dreamily, "magical."

Lilian is, honest-to-Creator, your best friend. But she is also an immense romantic, and has already met her soulmate, and, well, you do not think she understands what you feel. Even if she's trying to help.

Time passes. You turn seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. Then twenty-five, leaping forward in the blink of an eye. You still have not felt the pull.

You are half, and you begin to worry you will always remain half. Broken. Defected. You decide.

"I'm going to see the Creator," you tell Lilian, and her eyes widen. "I'm serious," you add.

She says, "But no one's reached the top of the Mountain and come down before."

You say, "Then I'll be the first."

She breathes, and says, "Let me come with you."

You put together a party. Sko'sie, of the northern elves, who's already lost his soulmate long ago and sympathizes with your cause. Khujsa, half-pixie and mischievous, who works as a guide for the lower half of the Mountains and is looking for something bigger. Lilian's soulmate, Avery, who just waves off your thanks, smiles and says: "Of course I would come. You're Lilian's best friend, after all." Lilian herself, tackling you in a hug and promising to help you however she can.

And so you go, the five of you, up the mountain. The roads are perilous and filled with dangers, monsters and magic and things too ancient to understand, things so ancient they have been forgotten by even the elves (Khujsa documents it all with an intense fervour and a mutter of "this information is going to make so much money", being Khujsa).

Against all odds, you make it to the halfway point after six months. And you look around, on one of the many nights, as you set up camp – see that Avery and Lilian have wandered a little way away, heads bent and giggling, see the soulmate-tattoo on Khujsa's arm and Sko'sie fiddling with his ring – and you feel, again, the emptiness.

But Avery and Lilian come back, and there is chatter and food and laughter, and Khujsa tells another ridiculous story about the lower-Mountain tourists and Sko'sie sings one of his people's old folk songs, and Avery and Lilian get up to do a silly shuffle-dance to it and pull you into their circle too – and you realise you do not feel very alone.

Six months, six months again, another whole year. You realise that the lower half of the Mountain was much more kind, and above the midway point it rages and tries to fight you off every day. No one suggests turning back. No one so much as looks over their shoulders at the path behind. Everyone pushes onward.

And, you are not sure how, but you reach the top. Maybe it is luck, or the Mountain being kind, or the Creator willing it, but you reach the top. And there it is, the golden, glowing Shrine, every bit as beautiful and radiant as the myths said. The others send you off with waves and smiles and well-wishes and "good luck"s.

You take a breath, and climb the shimmering steps alone.

And there is the Creator, arms behind back, waiting, expectant. You walk up, take another deep breath, unable to make even direct eye-contact – and you bow deep, and say: "Please. Fix me."

The Creator frowns, says: "But you don't need fixing."

The world drops out from under your feet. "What?"

And the Creator shows you – a white, hovering, glowing orb, ripples of light and rainbow and colours unknown streaking across its surface. Says, "It is true that I never gave you a soulmate, but that is because you don't need it. People like that exist, see? This is your soul."

You look over it, again. There are no cracks, no jagged ends, nothing to suggest something defective. The orb is full and round, and something clicks inside of you, and then you realise you are crying. You ask, anyway, though you already know the answer – you know it from the contentment you get being around the others, Khujsa's stories and Sko'sie's songs and Lilian and Avery pulling you along to dance, that feeling of not being alone: "Why?"

The Creator just smiles. "Because I never made you a broken half. You were never a broken half."

"You are, just like everyone else, whole."

So I wrote this for a comp which required a 300-500 word short story and,  as always, I went way over the word limit. This is the full version, to make up for the fact that I basically had to hack my writing style to pieces.

Anyway, see you in the next one, guys! (whenever that might be, lol.)

Peace out,

Serena.