He is five when he can first remember hearing about soulmates. A three year old boy in town received his mark and the people rejoiced at such a rare thing appearing among one of their own.
They all 'oohed' and 'aahed' over the pretty little picture on the boy's shoulder. Wyatt didn't understand what all the fuss was about. It was just a loaf of bread.
"It means he has a soulmate, dear," his mother tries to explain.
"But... it's bread."
"It is meant to represent the person he's destined for."
"So... she really likes bread?"
His mother laughs, "Perhaps, but it is more likely she will be a baker or something of the sort."
"How is he supposed to find her?"
"A mark appears on both people when the last of the pair is born. The rest is up to fate."
Even as a small child, his inner self recoils at the idea.
"They don't have a choice?"
His mother stops her stirring of the pot at the stove, looking thoughtful for a moment.
"People still have free will. I suppose one could walk away but I've never heard of anyone doing so."
After his bath that night, Wyatt spins around in front of his mother's looking glass, trying to view his shoulder from every angle. With relief he sees it is bare and hopes it is always to remain so.
He is eight when he meets her, blonde and blue eyed like himself. She shoves him to the ground for pulling her hair and doesn't back away when he picks himself up off the ground and sticks his tongue out at her.
"Come on, Adora! Mom is going to kill us if we're late!"
The little blonde girl stomps on his toes before running to her family, leaving Wyatt to hop on his one good foot.
He is fifteen when he works up the nerve to ask her to dance with him at the town assembly. For one terrifying moment she just stares at him before accepting his hand. It is an awkward affair but when she smiles he forgets all about the clumsiness that came with his sudden growth spurt. She doesn't seem to mind his sweaty palms or the asinine small talk he tries to make.
And at the end of the night, when she gives him a quick kiss behind the barn before darting away, he thinks the whole soulmate thing is rubbish. If it were real he would have her mark and she his.
Of that Wyatt is certain.
He is nineteen and already married six months when it appears. He must have stared at it for an hour, anger boiling up inside and half formed thoughts whirling about his head. He feels ill with the implications and marches out of their small city apartment to find the one man he thinks can help.
The Mystic Man lets him in without resistance when he sees the young Tin Man's face. Wyatt unbuttons his sleeve and thrusts it under his nose.
"What can you do about this?" he asks through gritted teeth. The old wizard looks at the mark, his eyes going wide.
"When did this appear?" he asks in a hushed voice.
"Sometime in the past few hours. It doesn't matter. What can you do about it?"
"Nothing."
"What do you mean nothing? There has to be a spell, something, anything."
"Wyatt," says the Mystic Man, "I can't... this is magic beyond me... beyond the Queen, even."
Cain growls, rubs his face, and then puts his hands through his hair.
"This means she was born today?" he asks, a hint of disgust in his voice.
"Yes, it does."
"Even if I didn't have Adora, how would that be ok?"
"That's not for us to decide-"
"Not for me to decide? It's my life! It's my family. I love Adora. This-" he says venomously while brandishing his wrist, "means nothing to me. She means nothing to me."
The Mystic Man watches as Cain paces the room before slumping dejectedly into a chair and resting his face in his hands.
"This is going to destroy Adora. It'll be the end of my marriage."
The wizard takes pity on the man.
"I can't take it away. I can't get rid of the bond. But... I can cover the mark."
"Do it."
"Cain, you can't out run fate. This changes nothing. She will catch up to you."
"We'll see about that."
As he makes his way home an hour later, so preoccupied are Cain's thoughts, he does not notice the sprigs of lavender and pink roses lining the streets.
He is twenty-six when he feels his invisible mark burn so viciously he rips open his sleeve, expecting to see a black hole in his wrist. He hasn't thought about her in years, but as he stares at his arm, still red over his hidden mark, he finally does. He only knows two things about her.
She is seven and something terrible has just happened.
For weeks he cannot shake the feeling of failure that sits heavy in his chest.
He is thirty-two when they come for him, destroy his family, and lock him in the suit. He rages for the first few days, screaming himself hoarse and throwing what he can of his body against the walls.
After three weeks he is silent.
After an annual he has learned to escape inside his head. He wonders briefly what became of the girl and what had happened to make the mark react so badly those years ago. But he stops that thought almost as soon as it starts. It doesn't matter.
In another six annuals he forgets she ever existed.
All that matters anymore is Zero and seeing him dead.