Avarice - extreme greed

Bella

Bella Swan was born with her marks. On her pale skin, they had been so minute that her mother was convinced they were simple freckles fluttered across her collarbone; but the specks began to darken and color in iridescent hue as she grew older that they couldn't possibly be anything else. At three years old she finally took notice of them in the mirror, her wavy, brown hair still a wet mess from the bath she'd escaped from. Barefooted and wide-eyed across her reflection, she pointed and marveled at the dainty flower buds on her skin. With a doting smile and a smooth caress, Renee had explained to her carefully, "Those are your lovemarks, sweetie."

Lovemarks. Because just like everybody else on the planet, Bella was destined for somebody. A somebody to call hers, a somebody to love, a somebody to cherish and protect. Her marks were proof that she had a missing piece of her soul out there, an unknown lover, and he would have something similar painted on his skin to claim her as his. Not necessarily in the same place, shape, or color, but in the event that she and her soulmate met, their marks would burn in recognition and bloom into multicolored petals, roses, and crawling vines.

Bella's voice filled with childlike wonder, she pleaded, "Please, mama, can I see yours?"

Renee nodded obligingly and rolled up her sleeve to show the toddler. Bella peered over excitedly, but the smile on her mouth pinched into a tight frown at the sight of her mother's marks.

Exactly like hers. Small, seed-like specks. Unchanged. Unbloomed.

"Not everybody meets their soulmate, sweetheart," Renee explained, smoothing out the deepening crease between her brows.

Bella started to sniffle. "But… daddy?"

"He's not my soulmate, but I love him more than that." Renee whispered as she pulled her daughter into her chest.

It was the first time Bella ever recognized sadness in her mother's voice, and she never forgot.

People never meet their soulmates the way they expect them to. Rare were the stories where soulmates met in kindergarten or lived in the same neighborhood. Those types of people were beyond lucky. More often than not, soulmates met at midnight coffee runs, holiday accidents, funerals… impromptu family trips.

That was how Renee met Phil. Bella had just turned six, and the entire trip was supposed to be a happy family memory – going to Arizona with her parents and watching a baseball game – but how could she have possibly celebrated? After their meeting, it didn't even take a week for her mother to file for a divorce.

Needless to say, Bella was devastated.

"She said she loved you more than a soulmate." Bella grumbled angrily as she helped Charlie pack Renee's things. Three more boxes to fill and they'd ship it off to her mother's new address.

"She does." Charlie said, curt, then corrected himself with a wince, "She did."

"So how could she just leave?" Bella exploded with an indignant cry. "How could you let her?"

Charlie didn't return her tone. With a somber smile, he crouched in front of her and held her by the shoulders. With a firm squeeze, Charlie told her, "You need to understand that Renee chose to stay here for me. Now she has Phil, she can choose herself. You should be happy for your mother, Bells." He kissed the top of her head. "I know I am."

Bella didn't believe him, but she never brought it up again, either. And because Charlie had asked it of her, Bella bottled her anger and buried it down with the rest of the horrible feelings she had nestled inside of her chest. They dissipated from her mind like smoke wafting from a live gun, and eventually there was no ammunition left to point at and let go, allowing her to reconnect with Renee over the years as she grew.

When she was ready, Bella flew over and visited Florida. There, she found her mother sporting sleeveless tank tops and shorts, multicolored rosettes and twirling vines scattered on Renee's tanned skin like the vibrant tattoos of love and life that they were, magical and perfect and romantic and oh boy, did Bella feel like a shit daughter when she couldn't find it in herself to be happy.

Lovemarks.

Bella thought of her father at home, struggling with his loneliness, lying through his teeth, hearing him plead and choke back his sobs at night. All alone.

What a fucking joke.

At nineteen, she'd convinced herself that true romance could only be found between the pages of an Austen book. By twenty-two, she'd gotten accustomed to wearing turtlenecks and scarves – out of sight, out of mind – and her hair was always let down, unkempt, long enough to drape over her collarbones.

Despite Bella's hard-headed refusal, Renee and Charlie contrived to give her "a special something" for her graduation. Renee had sent over a polaroid camera, a scrapbook, and a red, sleeveless sundress, while Charlie had gotten her a plane ticket to a far-flung, obscure town in southern Italy simply because Bella had taken the language as an elective during her senior year.

"No refund policy," Charlie announced plainly as he placed the gifts on the edge of her bed, then headed for the stairs without so much as a backward glance. "We ripped the receipts, too. Happy birthday, Bells," he threw over his shoulder.

By the time she had even realized what happened, Charlie was already jogging out the front door, hopping into the police cruiser, and driving off like a sneaky thief.

He knew her so well.

Volterra was nice. Warm. A change of pace and scenery. Quiet.

She spends the first two nights walking around, trying out cafes and galleries near the hotel she was staying in, tourist map clutched in her fists so tight her knuckles nearly turned white. She familiarized herself with the landmarks of the locality until she was satisfied she could find her way back to her accommodations if ever she got lost.

When she finally found the courage to delve deeper into the farther, wilder parts of the province, Bella began to fall in love Volterra. She found antique shops, record stores, flower shops, and galleries that reminded her of Greek plays and fairytales; she found clandestine libraries in far-flung alleys, vintage cottages and cheese farms hidden beyond the fences of little-known woodlands.

She hadn't even noticed how many days had passed until it was her last. Heedless, reckless, and unrestrained, she humored the wishes of her mother. She put her hair in a wispy plait to match the red sundress she'd been gifted and walked straight out of her suite without covering her marks. She was a happy, free, a woman out on a mission – to forget everything and live without anchors and she was going to do exactly that until her very last day in Volterra. No insecurity would pull her down while she was there.

Lost in euphoria and without a single care in the world, Bella booked and joined an exclusive tour to one of the ancient castles. The architecture, the masterpieces, the experience – everything was perfect.

But then she turned at a corner, bumped her forehead right into somebody's chest, and her marks – Lord, her marks…!

From the base of her neck, across her chest, down her arms to her fingertips… Petals, vines, leaflets and florets… All shaded in a violent myriad of black, indigo, silver, and burgundy.

Bella did the only thing she could think of – and ran.

Version 1 May 2021