ines hadn’t been born with one. no particular marks, other than the freckles dotted here and there on her tiny body. her parents fussed, needling the doctor as to why their daughter was missing her mark.

she shrugged, not bothering to spare them a glance from the documents at hand. “it happens sometimes.”

that didn’t go over very well with her parents. but no matter which expert they asked, it was always the same—yes, there were cases (though not many) of people without their marks. no, it didn’t make them any different from those with. no, they could not genetically engineer a mark to appear on their daughter’s body.

after a few years of fruitless searching, her parents gave up. they had more pressing matters at hand, like the fact that her older sister (who, thankfully, did have a mark) was enrolling in her first team sport. it had to be the perfect sport—something unique, something that she could eventually excel at, that she would look beautiful doing—never anything so vulgar as, say, hockey.

they chose gymnastics. the type of gymnastics would be decided once she’d gotten a few years under her belt.

ines loved watching her sister at practices. she herself was too young for sports yet—only four years old. so whenever her nanny suggested leaving a little earlier to pick up isabel from practice, ines agreed with enthusiasm. she’d sit there, staring wide-eyed on her nanny’s lap, as her sister manuevered her body into shapes and positions she’d never seen before. but her favorite was when isabel danced. it didn’t matter with what—the ribbon, the ball, the hoops—she was good at all of it. isabel could do anything. ines knew it, her parents knew it, and everyone that knew isabel knew it.

***

n.b: a practice in creating a backstory