Urban Magic
@caffeinewitchcraft sorry for the late submission and SUPER late to the prompt writing party. Hope this is okay!
For the lyric prompt Patricia by Florence and the Machine:
. . .
There was City magic in Her bones, reminiscent of a time before She packed up and crossed the country. When She was young and could not quite contain it, the sidewalk split beneath Her shoes. Even barefoot, Her footsteps rattled against the hard tile. But this place? This place had the habit of sucking the loud right out of a girl and condensing her into a complacent woman who does not take up space.
The North does not like Her kind anymore. They have lost their patience with strange gods and strange things. Though she has never lived outside of this tiny town, Pat thinks there are too many churches up North, spreading lies and corruption. She does not remind Pat of the six different denominations spread only between two blocks here.
But she is right. Things are different. The South has always been more considerate to superstitions. The people here welcome anything new and bright. Though skin like a dirt road makes people hesitate, the churches offer testimonies of miracles and good deeds alongside "Magic is a gift from the gods" theologies. She supposes everywhere has their vices.
There was City magic in Her bones. She had been created with it and it followed Her like a lost thing before curling like a cat around Her very being. Sometimes, soft tendrils would flick around Her fingers when she was agitated; a comfort and a menace.
When She moved to the country, the towns were too small to contain it. The sidewalks once again cracked beneath Her scuffed boots, unbraced for a girl so full of 7am traffic jams and noisy underpass grafitti.
The air was wet here, humid and sticky even when the ground was hot and barren. Every summer captures headlines as the hottest in at least a decade. There is never new news in small towns. When it rains more than a few inches, the newspapers run an article about the first and only major natural disaster to hit the county. It happened eight years ago and even still, tornado sirens call people to shelters with their shrieking call.
Where She walks, cool breeze follows. She sweeps past a couple in the local grocery store. They shiver at Her humor, cold and dry. The bread aisle smells like frost. The locals chalk it up to Her icy, no-nonsense gaze. Even after many years here, She has yet to learn the warmth behind Southern Hospitality. She has no patience for idle gossip. She nods Her thanks and when the clerk's hands brush Hers to return Her change, he notes that Her fingers are smooth and hard like new asphalt and sparkling glass.
She still drinks her tea unsweetened. Alchemy has never been Her strongest suit. Her first time, She'd mistakingly poured two cups of sugar into a piture of iced tea.
She has a lover who's laugh is honey and sunshine and bubbly as a brook. When Pat takes the undrinkable liquid to pour down the drain, She does not hesitate to defend Herself. She drinks, crunching saccharine crystals with Her teeth. She sticks out Her tongue and admits defeat.
She watches as Pat refils the piture with water from the unfiltered tap and measures out tea leaves. Pat pinches mint from a mason jar planter on the windowsill. At her touch, it grows back and She kisses Pat's talented hands in response. The beautiful country nymph She has fallen for could heal even the Earth if she wanted to.
At night, they lay tangled in the grassy backyard. She traces a group of stars with her finger, mapping out a constellation.
"That one is you." She whispers against Pat's peachy hair. "The North star is your heart, guiding me back to you."
Pat entwines their fingers. "The town calls me 'goddess-tamer' " she says it softly, as though she is afraid of the title.
She tries not to laugh. She is a dark, massive thing, a destroyer of worlds indeed. "How quaint of them to believe I can be tamed."
"Are you not?" Pat rolls over to plant kisses against Her shoulder. "I have worshipped your 'temple' plenty to know you of all gods can be tamed."
She closes Her eyes and hums pleasure. This girl of Hers was quick. "I must go soon." She says it like a curse.
"Will you be back?"
Though the kisses at Her skin had hesitated, She did not. "Yes. I will always come back to you." The oath settled around them as a weight, an anchor.
Yes, She was a goddess of cold destruction. She had fallen in love with mortals many times during her immortality. She had never promised them anything before. She had been dismissed from Her realm with intentions on destroying this one. It could wait. Wait another lifetime. Wait on another god to bring reckonning. She had once thought this place to be hideous and dull.
Pat resumed her kisses, following the line of Her jaw, over Her chin. Pressed gently against Her lips. Yes, it could wait.
There was City magic in Her bones. Some days it paced restlessly in Her chest and crackled around Her sharp nose. But when this girl of healing and rebirth stepped on the cracks She made on the sidewalk, flowers followed.
