The Person on the Heart's Compass

Using my reversed markings as a key, I unlock time’s rusted lock and dredge up the fragments of memory buried by the years. In the creases of souls crushed by fate lie too many wounds they dare not show. Then I met you, with reversed markings carved into your wrist, and glimpsed the frozen wreckage in your eyes.

Every character in our encrypted joint medical record is soaked in blood and tears. You are both the one who wielded the knife and the soul pierced by its blade. In the chess game of fate, you are both the player making the moves and the piece being moved. The line between perpetrator and victim has long since blurred into a blood-red fog.

And I still search stubbornly among the ruins of time. Even if the truth is a poison-tipped dagger, I will cut through these layers of fog to touch what is scorching and painful, yet real.