.

.

PART ONE: PERFECTLY WRONG

.

.

(Arya's Story)

.

.

She felt like a corpse.

A corpse so heavy and drained of any sign of life, its vessels lacking the healthy blood and replaced with pumping dark ink that never seemed to stop running under her skin.

She woke up with a neutral glare on her face the moment she opened her eyes to the new day, her nineteenth nameday morning to be specific, and it felt even worse than the year before.

Everyone around her wouldn't stop mentioning her future soulmate, and Arya Stark, the figure that was lying on her bed and sending hateful looks at the ceiling, grew to hate him and her tattoo even more than she already did the unfortunate day she received it.

And taking it out by too much drinking, attending wild parties, and occasional snorting did not even help the slightest bit.

On her eighteenth's nameday, exactly a year before, Arya was actually quite hopeful, yet she still found herself anxious to what was coming.

That unfortunate night, sleep refused to cross her eyelids as she waited dreadfully for her soulmate tattoo to appear. Her mother had eventually burst into Arya's room unannounced, her life lecture ready on her tongue as she demanded her daughter to sleep if she wanted the tattoo to appear anytime soon. Needless to say, an angsty fight soon followed, both sides unyielding until Jon, her closest brother, dutifully took the role of the arbitrator and settled the dispute, giving her sleeping pills as a peace offering.

All night she tossed, turned, and rolled around her bed like an untamed animal. She destroyed her sheets and pillows, and finally, finally woke up, her body covered in sweat as if she just came out of one of her extreme kickboxing episodes.

Arya stepped out of the bed and regretted it immediately, feeling her feet light and clumsy with the very first step she took. She rubbed her eyes, smudging the mascara and dark eyeliner across her face and yawning. Arya then stood tall in front of her long mirror, feeling herself shrinking instantly when she couldn't bring herself to reveal it. Her hands shook and refused to grab her tank top, her eyes were even more stubborn, and did not dare to glance an inch down her torso.

It was right there. Right in her vision. Right under the fabric that covered her tanned stomach, but she did not dare look.

Arya glared at the mirror like she was facing Cersei Lannister herself, queen of all that was evil, and broke eye contact when they both blinked at the same time in defeat.

Pathetic, Arya cursed herself, walking away from the mirror and into a hot shower after half an hour of glaring at herself. Fucking pathetic

She felt a slight sting on her right hip upon settling in the tub and she knew the tattoo was placed there. And it was a big tattoo, judging from the area where the pain was most concentrated, so that would mean the phrase her soulmate would tell her the first time they meet would be very long.

A very unpleasant thought crossed her mind, despite herself.

Perhaps... well, perhaps her soulmate was a hopeless romantic spouting poetics, like Theon had told her. No, she hissed. This is not the time for destructive thoughts.

Theon was messing with her, she knew. Her older brothers enjoyed grinding her gears ever since her nameday came close. They did that as well with Sansa years before, and the redhead ended up having an existential crisis when Robb mentioned the possibility that her soulmate could be an ugly bearded truck driver waiting at a pub for his pretty innocent soulmate. The joke, in hindsight, had gone too far and her perfection of an older sister locked herself up in her room for three whole days, eventually giving up after her mini fridge and emptied and she didn't have any more snacks to survive on. A savage girl she was.

Her father had scolded her brothers for the immature behavior and they promised not to go this far again.

With Sansa.

Now, they had shifted their aim at the younger sister to torment, but Arya was not Sansa. She shook off their jokes and played along, even telling them that he might be a married fat drunkard for all she cared; she did not let it show that she was also scared to death herself. There was even a huge possibility that Arya wouldn't get a tattoo in the first place. Like her brother Theon never had, or their infamous aunt Lysa if half of the horror stories about her were true.

Though, honestly, Arya didn't mind if he was a fat married drunkard. She was more frightened that he would turn out to be a hopeless romantic. I can make him divorce his wife and get in shape, she had thought back then, and heck, we'll even drink together. But a hopeless romantic was not an option. Theon can fuck off and go straight to hell.

To put it simply, a soulmate meant much more for Arya than normal people.

She had always been an odd girl, a black sheep swimming in the white and almost always drowning. She didn't have a moral compass or a legacy to follow as the rest of the Starks did. All she had, was madness so deeply rooted that it frightened her to a point she couldn't speak to anyone about it.

Her brothers enjoyed getting on her case about her 'shitty taste in music' but she could swear that Lana Del Rey knew what's up in that fucked up brain of hers.

Arya was born into an elite, noble house, surrounded, respected, looked upon, and expected so much from by many, and often disappointing all who are around her with not a slight ounce of guilt. Her problems were rooted, varying from uncontrollable violent urges (which more often than not became actions), to a loose, unfiltered tongue that did not speak the noble language, and anger management issues that years of therapy could not yet dissolve. Being the rebellious, wild, and untamed child, she had focused on one goal her entire eighteen years of life.

Which was to leave the alien society she was raised in and never come back.

Her last name, however, never failed to be in the way. The Stark house was one of the most well-known families in Britain, all thanks to her father and his humongous reputation. Ned Stark was the Prime Minister, one of the most influencing and important men alive, whose wealth and connections were sometimes hard to comprehend, who was larger than life, loved by millions, and feared by more.

It was no rumor that King Robert left most of the Kingdom under her father's management. Robert Baratheon wasn't very productive as a king, but she liked him all the same. He was a carefree man and had all the power this world could offer, but having power was not the same as ruling. Everyone knew that her father was the one holding the reins and keeping the whole kingdom together. And Arya, along with her siblings, had his last name to protect and maintain as elite members of the society and keep her rebellious acts out of the public's radar.

With all that on her plate, Arya never stopped believing that she was born in the wrong place, almost like she was a human who found themselves in the wrong gender since their birth. She was consumed with an independent mindset, a sense of freedom and inner vagueness that didn't match with anyone she knew. Arya was aware of the world around her, almost too aware of the people who starved to death and didn't have a roof to sleep under to a point it made her hate her position with bitterness.

Someone had told her once that wealthy people were born wealthy because they were fated to be by the Old Gods. But to her, fate wasn't always rectified to some people who didn't deserve it, who didn't deserve the goodness. Arya knew she didn't; she was the least deserving of her position. She was nothing but an unlikable individual who did not listen to anyone and did whatever her heart told her to do. She didn't wait for tonight to have her first drink, to smoke her first cigarette, or bothered to have a filter when she spoke. She didn't grow up in the streets, per se, but fights were her only solace for a kind of release and she did spend as much time there as she could.

Her brothers had creative minds, not her. Sansa was a perfect, influencing Lady, not her. Arya had a dream ever since she was nearly six, to travel the globe in an endless trip, and meet all kinds of people and cultures and see the world without being surrounded by security details and cooped up in five-star hotels and privately own villas. But as Arya grew older, she knew it was just a dream.

With where her life was heading, Arya would probably stay in the Capital and work in her family's company – the North Company Lines – which will pass down to Robb. And to his sons after him, without achieving anything but remain in that wrong point of place and time. Her parents didn't listen to her. Her friends didn't understand her. And her siblings were so different from Arya that it made her feel like she did not belong anywhere near them. Only Jon listened, but he never knew what she was going through. Because unlike her, he had taken advantage of his name and standing and embraced it to make their parents proud.

A soulmate though, a soulmate would change everything.

When they were younger, she used to act disgusted and repulsed whenever her sister mentioned the fairy tales of people finding their soulmates and meeting the one person that completed them. However, in reality, deep inside, she knew that he was her future rescuer. Arya's only wish was to find someone who understood those feelings she had, someone who would take her far away from this place and never return her.

So Arya had waited for that day, and hoped, hoped for a partner in crime, hoped for a change, hoped for freedom.

Arya checked everything in her bag to make sure her kickboxing equipment were all there and braced herself for a long day of training.

Over the years, kickboxing had become her default hobby. Upon her request, her father had surprisingly agreed to her training with enthusiasm; he was just glad she could be able to legally hit people without bringing him problems, inconveniences, and shame to his name. Ned, admittedly, had spent a good amount of her childhood apologizing to countless teachers, sitters, and angry parents because of her.

So he actually encouraged it, as long as she didn't take it out of the arena, and even went as far as to hire a personal trainer when she was just a child with anger management issues.

Before heading downstairs, she pulled on a clean pair of jeans with the same tank top from the morning. Arya did not find the energy to beautify herself, as per usual, as she saved these sorts of things for special occasions.

Her first time entering a local bar without a fake ID last night was one of them.

For now, the frown and black circles framing her eyes were the only makeup Arya needed.

She descended the stairs, tiptoeing in a pitiful attempt to avoid her family at all costs that morning, but as always, Rickon did not waste the chance to ruin her plans.

"She woke up!" her eleven-year-old brother announced, shouting on top of his goddamn lungs.

She heard footsteps and Arya hung her head, already groaning before anything happened.

"Arya!" her mother appeared from absolutely nowhere. "Happy nameday, dear."

Arya's whole body cringed when Catelyn Stark placed a wet kiss on her cheek. The older woman then led her daughter to the kitchen, where she heard loud chatter, an unmistakable bad sign.

Gulping, Arya no longer worried if her mother smelled any trace of alcohol or smoke on her, and focused solely on the horror that awaited her in the breakfast table. It was a battlefield waiting for her, she knew.

Theon and Robb, her oldest siblings, were drumming on the table in a dramatic, suspenseful manner that she wanted to punch them for.

"Here's the nameday girl!" Bran, her younger brother, cheered beside them.

Jon, the quiet one who only spoke when it was utmost necessary, calmly observed her with his striking grey eyes that matched her own. "Wow, you look like shit."

Her father simply gave her a subtle smile and went back to his tablet, no doubt studying his day's agenda. Jon and Arya took his traits; they were both born with grey eyes, jet black hair and long faces whilst the rest took after their mother with auburn hair and round features, all except for Theon, of course, who was blond and looked very different from the rest for obvious reasons. Like the fact that for some ungodly reason, his parents adopted him into their family.

"So Arya, loner forever or a soulmate?" Theon asked, the trademark smirk forming playfully on his lips and once again Arya asked herself 'Did my parents really not have enough children as it is?'.

"Theon." Her sister Sansa chastened, Princess Myrcella glaring openly next to her at him. That girl, Robert Baratheon's daughter, was so close to her sister she practically lived in their mansion, unhelpfully increasing their numbers much to Arya's annoyance.

"What? Jon tells her she looks like shit, nobody bats an eye. Poor Theon asks a rational question, everybody loses their minds!" Her brother exclaimed.

"Sit, dear." Her mother practically forced her on a chair, the creepy smile not leaving her face, sitting next to Sansa, who, with her wavy red hair, was a replica of Catelyn.

There was a moment of dreaded silence, and nobody spoke, just eager eyes eating Arya whole. She poured milk in her cereal and began eating like it was just a normal day.

Her father finally put the paper down. "What do you all have to say?"

"Happy nameday, Arya!" they all erupted at the same time, shouting like madmen. Arya winced in embarrassment.

The only one who said it wholeheartedly was Rickon. The rest faked excitement and it was evident what they all wanted from her.

She shrugged indifferently. "Thanks."

Someone turning eighteen was the most entertaining and long-awaited event to teenagers. It was a golden chance for spreading juicy gossip and a good source for blackmailing, but Arya wasn't in the mood to tolerate anyone or spill any tea, for that matter. Freshly tattooed or not, her cornflakes were calling for her.

Ned continued his breakfast calmly and without any more interest, but the silence did not last.

"Come on," Sansa was the first one to snap, giving in to the curiosity. "I'm friggin' dying in here, Arya."

The rest followed suit, but she insisted, stubbornly, on giving her cereal more attention than her whole family.

"Aryaaaa!" Rickon pulled her top but she did not respond, ignoring the seven voices that were striking at the same time.

Their chatter started to fade and she was thanking the Gods above.

When a long wave of silence unnaturally lingered, she heard a chair scraping against the floor and felt a hand on her shoulder. Arya looked up and found Theon at the corner of her eye, his short dirty blond hair brushing her ear.

To her utter shock, he looked serious, which rarely - if ever - happened.

"It's okay, Ar," his voice came in a solemn whisper. "Not having a soulmate is not the end of the world. I mean look at me, I'm awesome."

Her eyes widened. Then she realized nobody spoke against it, probably all beginning to think that she wasn't deemed fit to have a soulmate. They wouldn't even be surprised if that was the case, would they?

Her anger was fuming.

"I got the goddamn tattoo, alright?!" she snapped, her voice an octave too loud.

"She has it!" Theon announced, turning to face them.

"Show it then." Bran spoke up, pouring wildfire on a brazier as the rest of the youth echoed.

"Show it! Show it! Show it! Show it! Show it-"

"Enough!" her father came to her rescue, knowing too well the outcome of his daughter's inevitable anger. "Kids, give the girl some space."

Her mother tried to look serious as well, but she miserably failed. The curiosity was apparent by her sideway puppy eyes and Arya resisted the urge to kick something.

"What's wrong, sis?" Jon said, smiling charmingly, "Remember when Sans had hers? She came down running to show us."

"Yeah... she did."

"Arya, listen to me. It's okay if his first words weren't perfect. He's yours all the same." Sansa said, all gracefully, but she could not, for once in her life, not flash her trump card. Arya grew sick of hearing the same phrase over, and over, and over again. "I mean, someone wouldn't just walk to you and say words like 'Watch for yourself, little bird', for you, that would be a bit-"

Arya slammed down her juice glass on the table as hard as she can and spoke in a hushed, livid voice. "I didn't look at it yet."

"Oh my Gods," Myrcella whispered in horror.

Her mother finally lost it after that. "Come on, sweetie." Oh god, please don't. "Then share it with your family, we will all see it together."

Arya took the best course of action. She completely ignored her.

"Aryaaaa, pleaaaaseee!" Rickon resumed his mission to annoy his older sister as much as he can.

"Hmph," Theon scuffed, "Look at you, I don't think you have one after all."

"I have one!" Arya shot back.

Theon smiled mischievously, "Then man up and show it."

She absorbed the scene around her, her anger only multiplying at the sight.

Her sister and her best friend gave her longing looks. Her mother pouted in desperation. Jon nodded his head at her and Robb and Theon gave a daring looks. Her father though, looked overall uninterested but was no longer on his tablet.

This goddamn family.

"For fuck sake!" she yelled, standing up abruptly. Her dad muttered a quiet 'language' under his breath, but she continued anyway and pulled up her top just about a level so they could see where her skin was stinging. "Here! Happy?!"

There was another beat of silence, but it was definitely an unsettling one.

Jon dropped his teaspoon. Sansa and Myrcella's mouths were shaped in awkward O's. Bran's eyes almost popped out of his skull and her mother had a hand on her chest. The rest just looked shocked and speechless. Only Theon seemed amused.

Rickon was the one to break it, with a wild, uncontrollable, inconsiderate fit of laughter.

The boys started chuckling helplessly, the girls went from shocked to disgusted, and even her father showed amusement.

"What?!" She yelled, anxious, "What does it say?!"

Everyone looked at Theon for support, who was snickering unashamedly, "Nope, nope, hell no. I'm not going be the one to break it to her."

"What?!"

Her father sighed.

"This is a horrible, horrible thing to say." Sansa said, and Myrcella nodded.

"So rude." Her mother shook her head mournfully.

"WHAT?!"

"Sis," Robb decided to be helpful. "Go to the hall's mirror and see for yourself."

"N-no! What does it say?!"

"Go." Jon said simply.

And she did.

Arya stomped her way to the hall with her hand still on the hem of the clothing. Then she saw her reflection, and her heart sank to her stomach.

'Fucking M'lady doesn't even bother to look where she's going'

Arya Stark then ran outside the mansion in fury and didn't come back until after midnight with all the frustration temporarily gone.

Legend says that a lot of people heard that there were serious injuries on most of the trainees at The Black and White Kickboxing Center that day.

Arya groaned loudly at the memory, walking to the same mirror, one year older, and looked at herself with only a white sports bra and shorts, and she didn't know what she was expecting.

It was the same tattoo, in the same place, with the same crooked, bold font, and the same letters.

She was sure her soulmate wasn't a hopeless romantic by now, but a rude asshole she was sure he was.