Bill Cipher

Most people are born with a name written in every possible language; some are born without one. But Dipper Pines was born with a small black triangle, in the middle of which was a flesh-colored dot, standing out against the dark background like an open eye. Dipper Pines was born with a black triangle on his wrist, flawless except for a perfectly even circle in the center, revealing skin. It resembled an eye, looking out at the world with a smirk. Some people were just common names, of which there were too many in the world. Sometimes people were born with completely empty wrists. For the first time in years, Dipper examines the small triangle on the inside of his wrist and wonders what it has to do with their recent deal with the dream demon. One night, when they're sleeping on opposite sides of the room, he asks his sister, Mabel, about it. She thinks for a moment, then sleepily replies, "Maybe that triangle monster is your soulmate."

I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a soul, Mabel. In theory, being born with a soulmate (your soulmate, which wasn't just an exaggeration or words of affection, but literally the other half of who you really are, an addition to your life's symphony that resounded so clearly, whose name was written on the inside of your wrist) should have been a blessing. The guy sits on the rooftop ledge, reading one of the detective novels he brought with him, trying to distract himself from the mysterious observer/potential enemy—a combination of both. He's not very successful, because the feeling is much stronger today, and it's starting to seriously bother him.

• Hello. The voice belongs to a young man (presumably at least a couple of years older than Dipper) with wavy blond hair of a rich, warm shade that resembles sunlight, and a black top hat on his head.