.

.

She's never really belonged anywhere. To anyone.

Minnesota is full of ponds and forests and the distant cry of a loon. Whisked candy floss skies dappled in pinks and blues. Rows of small, mundane houses along the side of the road. It reeks like manure and dried out grass the further off from the nearest, overly crowded avenue.

Romelle peers upwards through her sunshine-yellow lenses, wiggling her fingers resting on the blacktop, trailing them solemnly over the white of the spray-painted traffic line.

The pair of bright, shimmery pink footprints end here abruptly.

Whoever is responsible for them likely got into a car and left. She's been following them since the early afternoon, coming back from her dance recital, glimpsing their appearance on the library's walkway.

Everybody has colored footprints, but only the person you belong with can see them.

At least… that's what her mother and father used to tell her. They died in a car crush, on their way back from a rowdy, late night out shortly after moving out to America, swerving into the wrong lane.

Her brother left her too, after devoting his life to protecting her and keeping a roof over their heads. Bandor claimed to be in love with a tall, handsome stranger owning the Galra Record Company. Some big, foreign label. Romelle distinctly has the memory of Lotor's dyed, snowy white hair, when it blew out in the wind, and his unusually long fingers covered in a multitude of bulky, iron rings.

Violet, like a flameglow. The color of Lotor's footprints, or so she heard from Bandor himself.

She's old enough to take care of herself, and rents out a place in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by old, wiry brush and knee-high grass. The ticks haven't eaten her alive yet.

A truck passes her by, honking. Romelle flips him off, not bothering to raising her head.

Sunset fills her loosened, gold hair, as she trudges eventually towards the gas station. Neon-blue light fans out, enveloping the lot. Romelle's fingers twitch inside the huge, worn pockets of her brother's varsity jacket.

A cheap cigarette would be good about now.

She spots a group of three people by the gas station's entrance, heading out. Two boys and a girl. All of them have darker skin than Romelle, but the first boy is leaner and shorter than the other, playfully hanging his arms round his friends' shoulders and kicking out his feet. The girl has ringlets, moon-silver and down to her waist, and a pair of gigantic, sterling earrings. Metallic-silver braces visibly on her two front teeth.

And pink sparkling underneath her high-tops, left behind with each step.

"Whoa, hey! Allura!" the other boy — with a yellow, V-shaped baseball cap — cries out for the girl, as she meets Romelle's eyes and gasps, hurrying off the sidewalk towards her.

Romelle blinks, amazed, when Allura hugs her excitedly and twirls them around, babbling and pointing to Romelle's jelly sandals. "Blue!" she squeals, clapping her hands. There's a similar accent to her voice like Romelle's own. "It's you! Oh my goodness, I've been searching for you everywhere since my aunt had me visit! Hunk and Lance didn't believe me and your footprints were so dim, but—"

"—yours are pink," Romelle says weakly, trying to force a laugh. "I-I'm Romelle."

Allura grins, and oh, it's so bright and silver that she's getting dizzy.

"It's very nice to meet you…"

And it couldn't come soon enough.

.

.


Voltron isn't mine. ROMELLE WEEK IS GOING ON RIGHT NOW ON TUMBLR! It's so awesome to get some love of this precious little bean! I went with something for "Day 3: Soulmates" and left out "Apocalypse" because I need some semi-sweet Romullera and so does everybody else! Gosh I hope all my wlw fans out there liked reading this and please please yes if you got some thoughts/comments, please share with me! They're the cutest thing! Gush away about this ship!