Yue Xia Lao, the Old Man in the Moonlight: he sits on the temple steps and reads a book, leaning on a bag filled with red strings. Occasionally, he'll look up drowsily and pluck a thread from the sack, one lone crimson thread. Right now, when it is not(more) yet dawn, he rests. But in the day, his work hours are long and strenuous. He ties red threads to the ankles of couples destined, creating an inescapable bond that will last throughout life. That's why he's reading that book, you see. In that book the name of your partner lies, entangled with your name in the language of the gods. Some say romantic love is youthful and impulsive, and that may be so. But he who directs it is ancient, wrinkled, white-bearded. Even here, you can't trust a youngster to do the job.(less)
There is a tale that she heard when she was a little girl about lovers being connected by a red string. That no matter where you went or what you did, your heart was always tied to another's, so you should never feel alone.
It was part of (more)a princess story, she thought. Regardless, she grew up believing that some day her soul mate would tug on that red string, and she'd just follow it to him.
Growing up changes things.
She was no longer sure if it was a him. Could be anyone, couldn't it?
She'd spent the last few years worried that maybe she'd already let The One get away.
But that wouldn't be a problem, not anymore.
She heard that your true love's heart was tied to yours with a red string.
Now, after every date, she cuts them open to check.(less)
Weaving, twisting, warp and weft, fingers flying, strings vibrant.
When you were flying through nothingness at the speed of light with only six other people, your options were quickly exhausted. Rose, fighting boredom, had taken up weaving, as well as knitting, to pass the time. Her latest project would(more) eventually become a cape heavily embroidered with recreations of shitty JPEGs; but as of now, it was only a deep red cloth.
She was even now planning, seeking the futures where her gift was best recieved and noting the patterns upon it. It seemed that any instance a smuppet was lovingly stitched, proboscis high and triumphant, that the cape was shoved into a corner, unused. But any cape with Geromy was unlikely to fail; thus, she devised a border of stairs, panels of shenanigans reproduced faithfully from their original online format, and each of them contained that little yellow man, in the spirit of multiracial inclusiveness.
Her nimble fingers flew across the fabric, and with a last line of red string it was complete- now was the time to take up the needle.
She only hoped that this cape replaced Dave's Knight of Time cape, as it was to be resplendent with hidden irony(less)
Flora could see strings. The little red ones that connected you to your one true love. She could see them tied around people's ankles. Mostly, the strings stretched far off into the distance. Red strings rarely connected people close together, except Dennis and Carly. Too bad they broke up.(more) Flora herself did not have a red string. A matchmaker like her did not have a match herself. Her life was dedicated to the romance of others.
Girls would pay her in nail polish and designer purses to tell them if their boyfriend was the "one." Most often they were not. Flora ran a little business out of her homeroom.
"Who's at the other end of my string?" Carly begged. "Do I know him?"
"Dennis," Flora told her.
"Flor," Carly frowned, "Lying is not cool. Dennis is the complete opposite of my perfect guy."
Flora just had to laugh.
She matched people up and broke them apart. Luanne's string connected to someone up north. Jasmine's string was thin but didn't connect to someone in the school, so her perfect guy was at least in the area. Arianne's string was the thickest Flora had ever seen, so her guy must be halfway around the world. The thicker the string, the farther away.
It was a Tuesday when Flora finally got Carly and Dennis back together. They were standing in the hallway arguing loudly. Flora walked right up to them and told them that their string had so much tension it was about to fray. So Dennis kissed her, and everyone applauded.
"You're quite the matchmaker," said someone next to Flora.
She looked up and saw a tall guy with wavy hair. "You're Flora the Matchmaker, right?"
"That's me," said Flora. She felt something warm around her ankle, something red, something like string.(less)
On the Fourth of July, Max spent more than an hour cleaning up Mr. Cawley's front lawn.
He protested, but all signs pointed to him. There were seven grandchildren and therefore seven cans of Silly String. The profane words sprayed on Mr. Cawley's front door were red, and(more) Aunt Cathy distinctly remembered handing Max the red can.
While his cousins brought out the volleyball net, he peeled the word "shit" off of the door. When his cousins turned on the sprinkler, he plucked copious amounts of rainbow-colored strings from the grass.
"There, done," he muttered to his father when he had cleaned up the last of the mess. As he stalked away with a bottle of root beer, his father called back to him.
"What?" he snapped, and was met with a face full of red Silly String.(less)
They say the red string of fate can be twisted and tangled, stretched and shrunk, but it will never break. How many people are still naive enough to believe in such a thing?
Those that have felt love often feel heartbreak too. They thought that their other perso(more)n was their soulmate, the only one they could ever be with. But their supposed red string of fate was only an imposter, a disguised orange under the light of their "love".
Red for love. Red for lust. Red for the blood flowing in one's heart, red for jealousy and anger. Red and white - pink, for hope. Maybe even a rainbow. Who knows?
So, then, perhaps that red isn't limited to the bonds of gender, time, place, or circumstance. One little red string connecting two people, two lives, two people that still believe that such love can exist. Red for those who still have faith in love. Red, and pink, for equality. (less)
When I was six I tried to follow one of my mystery strings. There was at least one tied to each of my fingers. I have never known if this number is average of low or high. I've never asked anyone else about their strings. When I planned to(more) follow the string on my left ring finger I had already tried pulling it towards me. It didn't occur to me at age six that I would never be able to pull a person towards me. I learned it shortly thereafter as well as the fact that pulling on the string only stretches it. When you let go it seems as though something is stretching it and brings it back to normal. I decided instead to follow it. It was laid out in front of and down the stairs to the gaping front door that lead into the warm summer day. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen and Frankie was at a friends house. I was supposed to be napping, so they didn't worry. My string went down the driveway and to the left. It just seemed to go on and on down the empty street. I don't know how long I walked. At one point I saw a boy at the other end of the street. We ran towards each other only to be disappointed and walk past without a word. The sun was setting when my parents found me. Panicking and kissing my head with my sister standing unsure behind them. I didn't understand the problem, or the depths of what I had done. I stood confused in my mother's arms, until I was piled into the car and we went home.(less)
She was being strangled, the red cord wrapping around her neck like a noose and forcibly pulling her towards this toxic boy. His very presence poisoned her, infected her with this corrosive parody of love and she knew, she /knew/ that he was terrible for her, and that she(more) was terrible for him, and that together they'd be a truly terrible match. Every aspect of him repelled her.
Honestly, she wasn't drawn to him so much as she was dragged kicking and screaming - she didn't want him at all. If she had a choice... but no.
Tied around my red finger, a growth of a bow. Not to spear an animal with a tip of poison. One of decoration, pointless but in celebration. Faces kiss the crescent and leave no moisture; they are dry and empty: Overdone and Wrong. Backing away I stand alone adorned(more) by false admiration, faces of crime and jealousy but pity too.
Young for honor but not honorable acts. A ceremony for the youngest of the royal line. Only one to rule, one or more to be sent to the next life. Jealousy and pity, those who believe and those who do not. (less)
The red string that binds us all to our fate slowly wavers at the touch of the wind. But why the wind? Is it really the wind? Or is it something we don't know? An intangible idea that slowly affects us and slowly cuts the red string that binds(more) us together. Our red string will not hold out for long if this "wind" keeps picking at it. We can't let that happen, no, we can't. Or else what else will we have to make us feel reassured? (less)
Jade leans against the wall of a rugged building, her mind consumed by an ocean of thoughts. It was only a few days prior that she and Yuuto-kun had begun dating consistently again, seeing as the season for his sports team had just ended. After a multitude of events(more) including a moment on the swings in the park where they commonly rendezvous and a night spent teaching her novice boyfriend ballroom dancing, they finally decided to go have a relatively low-key date night at a nearby cafe. Having been there before, she knew very well of its warm, but mellow, environment and delectable entrees.
However, her train of thought turns towards an advancing figure, who calls out to her with a joyful grin.
She smiles in kind as her organic flesh begins to glow faintly with a lilac hue. "There you are, Yuuto-kun. Shall we go?"
He nods eagerly as he takes her hand with a certain air of confidence that seems a slight bit unlike him, seeing as he is usually very shy and reserved.
"Of course! Perhaps you could lead the way?"
The purple sylvari's visage begins to golden a little at the sudden difference in his behavior, and she presses her other hand against his forehead to check for any potential fever.
"A-are you okay?"
Yuuto chuckles lightheartedly as he takes Jade's hand and moves it to his chest. "Of course I am. Now...feel this heart racing...fluttering with excitement and bliss like a swarm of butterflies in the presence of an exotic flower such as yourself."
He nods in understanding as he takes her other hand in his and leans forward to press his lips against hers, which throws the normally-dominant sylvari off a little as her golden blush deepens with her (cont)(less)
It is said that there is a red string of fate.
It may tangle, stretch, or shink, but it may never be cut.
The red string of fate is a beautiful thing.
Millions of people are born into this world, destined to be with someone at the other(more) end.
Attached to a pinky is a bright red bow. A peculiar thing because it is not an everyday occurrence that they feel a slight tug on their hand.
But what if one day you didn't feel that familiar tug? The person you are meant to be with isn't there any longer. Just like your special someone, the string starts to wither away and die until it is nothing more than a faint memory and you are left with cold grasps of loneliness.
You see, the red string of fate can be a beautiful thing. But it can also cause great loneliness. (less)
If you tied a red string to my heart, could you see it beating? Would it move faster when I am around the man I am in love, even faster when I feel anxiety, or slow when I am relaxed? If you tugged on that string, would I feel(more) deep emotion and when the tugging stopped the pain of loss? If heart strings existed could they be plucked, making my heart feel every love song? If it existed, could you actually see inside my soul to know how I really feel? Would it remove the blinders created by denial and fear? Would that red string someday save my life, as others notice its stopped moving? Or would they say, oh, that's just another red string, and move on with their lives? (less)
I live my life with a red string tied around my finger. A constant reminder of my mistakes, my inadequacies, and my failure.
"Never trust," it chides me.
"You aren't worth anything," it reasons.
"You're unlovable, and don't pretend otherwise."
(more) "You're unintelligent and unremarkable."
"You won't ever be good enough for them."
"You have no one."
"You are alone."
On and on it goes, until its voice becomes my own.(less)