The Red String

I work as a matchmaker.

Ever since I was a child, I can see strings, strings that connect us to other people. Strings can take a variety of colors and can change at any time, depending on your feelings towards other people.

When you like a person and they become your friends, the string that connects you both is white. When you start to feel dislike, irritated, annoyed, betrayed, jealous, envy, lust, hurt or other negative emotions, the color starts to change. From white, it eventually converts its color to black. In other words, strings change their colors because what you feel for others changes.

You might be asking, red strings are for the one true love, right?

The right term for it is 'fated partner' or 'predestined partner' but can never be called 'one true love'. People's hearts can change you know. Red can turn into black. Just like how a couple who loves each other, but after a few years, can loathe each other.

But the red string of fate, the one that connects in your pinky, is not the only red string we have. There can be 3 or more connected in your heart to other people. I call them 'fleeting love'. A person you fell in love but never ended up with.

This ability has been passed on to my family for generations. Most of my female ancestors don't have a fated partner, so they end up growing old alone. But all of them have someone they love. And they always die. Always. I remember my Aunt, who possesses the same ability as me said.

" You'd rather wish you didn't fall in love with someone, Alice. It will only kill you... To watch that person die in front of you... Believe me I know. "

I believe her. I fell in love. And he died. That's why I swear I will never love someone again. An ability we have. A great responsibility we bear. And a curse to live with. I never asked for this.

My name is Alice Jade Martinez. I'm 18. And this is my story.

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I work as a detective.

I assist the police in putting criminals behind bars. I've handled cases that range from murders, robberies, bombings, serial killings, and others. People call me great for having these talents. But in fact, I don't care.

I don't care about murders. I don't care if criminals were apprehended or not. I don't care if my stepfather used my talent for his own benefit. Nor I care for my stepbrother taking credits for my work. None of these matters to me.

All beings stick with each other for survival. As much as I hate it, if I want power, I must conform to the ways of this foolish, idiotic, world.