She sat in semidarkness in the middle of her living room, rubbing columbine leaves on the back of her hands. The salt, clove and sandalwood used to cast the circle around her made her soul feel protected; the rosemary sprigs, weaved into her loose braid, infused her mind with thoughts of banishment and healing.
It was probably wrong to use this sort of magic against a man who still breathed. But she had tried everything else and nothing worked. Maybe he has been dead for the last decade and I haven’t noticed.
“You’ll learn to never lock me out, woman.” His overused tone oozed through the glass of the balcony doors, and tried to wrap tightly around her neck.
The gun in front of her looked colder and more menacing in the living room, than it had seemed when it was out in the street. She was still staring at the weapon, thinking, I might not be able to do this, when he shattered the glass that stood between them and followed the destruction into her space.
She stood up to face him, but he had turned around seeming to sense what approached from behind.
Her best friend, Ivy—uniformed and armed—plus the entire Women’s Circle, stepped slowly towards him, their hands clasped together in an unbreakable chain of chosen blood.
“I’ve never been afraid of a cunt. Or a dozen of you.” He grinned.
The Women’s Circle continued closing in, now baring their teeth.
He tried to speak again.
The Women’s Circle hissed and growled.
She took two steps towards him, ready to roar in his face like she had practiced for weeks while standing on that same spot. But before pain, rage and disappointment rumbled out of her chest, his right fist struck her left eye.
She stumbled, but didn’t fall.
He raised his fist to throw another punch, but Ivy had him on the floor, handcuffing him and reading him his rights, before he could hit again.
She stared into his startled eyes and roared before Ivy’s partner dragged him out of the room.
Once her legs and her soul stopped shaking, she and the Women’s Circle cleaned and cleansed her old apartment. They helped her put her already packed suitcases into the car she had traded for her old one, and she drove to the hotel she had booked three weeks earlier. After a night of safe rest, she would start the 1,328-mile ride towards the beginning of her life.
Process Note: I wrote this bit of story for a friend a few weeks ago. She had been in a terrible relationship for a decade, and after a lot of help from a lot of people was able to leave safely. She gave me permission to share the tale right after I wrote it, but I just couldn’t find the right image to go with it—nothing felt right. Then, a couple of days ago, I received a parcel containing a purchase I made from Touch of the Goddess (I will show you soon). Sharon included a couple of surprises. The moment I saw the red and black “Heart Sister”, I knew it belonged with this story: a person can accomplish way more than “six impossible things before breakfast”, when she or he has an “Unbreakable Chain of Chosen Blood” standing by to offer a hand… or a heart.
linked to Prompt Nights (Guérison par la foi—Faith, healing)