They wouldn't believe me.
Then again, no one ever does.
At a mere fifteen years old, I, Rosanna Moore, had a tattoo.
I didn't acquire it by needle and ink, though. The truth is far stranger. It just...I don't know, appeared. How? No clue. But I know what I was doing at the time.
One day, I was out shopping with friends. Just a girls day out, you know? It was a beautiful day at the Westfield Shopping Centre in London, Great Britain, when it started happening. I had a strange burning sensation on my finger. To be precise, the ring finger on my left hand. It randomly occurred when trying on a red, silky dress in the changing room, but I figured it was a trivial matter and paid no mind to it.
Then, when I had woken up the very next morning, I was assaulted with a fever of 56.7°C. For you American gits, that's 102°F. My whole finger was red at that point and I had no idea what was going on, but I needed to cool down, so delirious and burning up, I crawled out of bed. There was no point in asking my parents for help because they weren't there.
My father being a lawyer, and my mum being a surgeon, the two of them were working hard that Friday while I slowly died on the floor, dredging myself to the water closet.
That's when I saw it. A weird, blue 'S' symbol on my finger, outlined in black.
I didn't freak out though, because of a pareidolic sensation (pareidolia is basically a form of deja vu).
I knew what it was and how it got there, without knowing why.
I also knew that the powerful fever i had was easily dispersed with a cup of Earl Grey tea, which is my father's favorite, and it wouldn't return.
That the population of Great Britain would rise by close to 1% in a few more minutes.
It wasn't any real reason for knowing what I knew, just that I DID.
Did it scare me?
A little.
Suprise me?
Hell yes.
But did I love it?
You bet your arse i did.
And so started my descent to a living Hell.