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Summary
In this world, the first words your soulmate speaks to you are tattooed on your skin from birth.
Wriothesley hears his on the day he stands - a ragged, scrawny teenager, his hands still feeling the sticky warmth of another’s blood - in the middle of a world he’d only ever seen in newspapers. And looking down on him was a divinity... dressed in elegant robes, with hair the color of moonlight on water.
In that moment, Wriothesley swore an oath to himself that he would not utter a single word in reply. After all, what right did he have to taint this divinity with his own filth?