She no longer knew how many times she had heard the legend of the red thread; she didn’t know how many times she had sat in silence while someone was talking about it. She didn’t know how many times she had met someone who had told her that, somewhere around the world, there was someone in whose little finger was tied the other end of the thread that was attached to hers and that, sooner or later, she would met him. She didn’t know how many times she had had to listen to those empty words of blind faith in fate that people spoke with the objective of giving her some hope.
But there was something none of them knew and it was that she could see them, she could see what stretched between the people joining them together and, far from being a simple and fragile thread, it was a thick scarlet ribbon.
None of them knew that she had already met the person to whom her red ribbon bound her. It had been the cruellest moment of her life, for she had been united to a cruel and manipulative person who had vilely used her and then betrayed and abandoned her, breaking her in tiny little pieces.
None of them knew that when she was finally able to repair her broken heart, she cut the ribbon, she cut off everything that had bound her to someone who did not deserve her smile, she cut that which kept her bound to the cruel designs of fate.
She cut the red ribbon long ago and since then she had been wearing it tied in her hair as the trophy of her victory in the fight against fate, now nothing tied her to anyone and she was the only one to decide with who she wanted to share her time and her life.