Willow closed her eyes, taking deep, slow breaths. She pulled her mind away from her itching arm, and tried to focus on something, anything, else.
“Damn it,” she whispered, opening her eyes and glaring at the twisting serpent inked into her skin. She could see the scab that itched, taunting her.
“What?” Thalia asked vaguely, nose still buried in her book.
“There is a scab on my new tattoo,” Willow said calmly, “that is making me want to peel off all of my skin.”
Thalia looked up from her book, eyes widened. “Willow, that’s just gross.”
“I know. But don’t you know that feeling, when there is a scab or something that you just can’t stop picking at?” Willow tapped her fingers against her thigh, keeping them busy, and away from her arm.
“I guess. But if you pick at it, you know you’ll wreck it, right?” Thalia reminded her, the book momentarily forgotten.
“I know,” Willow said, her teeth gritted. “I know if I pick at it, it won’t set right. Which is why I am slowly going insane instead of prying the damn thing off.”
Thalia tilted her head, studying her friend. “Didn’t this happen last time, too?”
“Yup. Every time, actually.” Willow examined the other tattoos on her arm, the blazing sun, the graceful butterfly, the small pentacle. And those were just the ones she could see with her sleeve rolled up; more images wound around her body, each with their own meaning.
She glared at Thalia. “Let me guess; all of yours healed without any itching?”
Thalia couldn’t suppress the grin that spread over her face. “Not a one. Of course, everyone is different. Some people are just more,” she paused, looking for the right word, “sensitive, than others.”
“Oh, shut it,” Willow grumbled. It was true. Willow did seem to be more sensitive than most people around her, much to her continued chagrin.
“Look at it this way,” Thalia offered, her smile softening. “You will be able to channel more power through that tattoo than anyone else we know.”
Willow just grunted. Sensitivity, in this case, was a strength. It meant that she could feel the waves of energy around her, could differentiate texture and density, and even intention, in a way that her fellow witches could never quite understand. While the rest of the coven had to focus all their attention on the tattoo that symbolized what they wanted to do, block out the rest of the world, and hope that the right energy was around when they needed it, Willow focused more on finding the energy she needed, then passing it through the ink on her arm.
She had tried to explain it to Thalia, to everyone, but they never understood what she was talking about, and she had scared a few of them with her description of the energies she felt. Thalia was the only one who hadn’t pulled away from her, and Willow was eternally grateful for her friendship. Because of that, she didn’t tell Thalia her deepest secret. While the rest of the coven gave their tattoos specific meanings, specific spells, that always worked the same way, Willow’s tattoos didn’t have the same rigidity. She could bend their effect when she needed to, the energy around her giving her clues about what type of magic she might need.
“I would gladly take less power if it meant the tattoos didn’t itch so much as they healed. What are you reading about?” she asked Thalia abruptly. “It might distract me.”
“Oh, just some ancient texts about sacred geometry,” Thalia said excitedly. “I can explain it to you, if you want!”
“Tempting,” Willow said dryly. “But I’m worried that I might fall asleep and scratch the damn scab anyway.”
Thalia glared at Willow, then her eyes drifted back down to the snake writhing on her arm. It almost seemed alive. “Remind me why you decided to get a healing charm this time?” she asked hesitantly.
“Just seemed like the next logical spell to work on,” Willow said, trying to keep her voice light. “Now, tell me about that fancy math stuff you are all excited about.”
Willow tried to focus on her friend’s enthusiastic explanation of spirals and icosahedrons, but the scab continued to itch, and the energy around her swirled, whispering gently, trouble is coming. Be ready.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020