i'm 22 and just met my adult grand niece
Ophelia stares. Her heart skips a beat, then two - several beats.
Her eyes, for what must be the seventieth time, trace the familiar lines of the mark on the man's arm. It's the same shape she's traced so many times with her fingers, in time of great solitude, searching for the strength of a Chosen One to call upon.
She knows, by this mark, that she is staring at a hero. But what's more, she may be staring at family.
Her mouth is dry. Each footstep she takes towards him is heavy and slow, as though she's walking through knee-high snow. And then when he turns, Ophelia freezes.
He doesn't have the face of a liar, nor does he carry himself like a tyrant. There is no reason she should have to hesitate.
Still.
Her hand crosses her torso and comes to rest on the opposite forearm, with her palm warming her matching mark through her sleeve. He wears his brazenly. He has removed an entire sleeve of his outfit to show it off!
Their eyes have met, though, and she will not back down now. She musters all the bluster inside her and brings it to the forefront.
“Hark! Yon with the cerulean locks - you carry the mark of heroes on thy shoulder. Know you its true meaning?”
@soulsaligned
