So, I was working on a picture to upload to Redbubble while listening to Fleetwood Mac (Rumors), and wondered what would happen if I pulled a tarot card as a story prompt. I pulled the Queen of Swords (an intelligent strategist who can also be described as a cold-hearted bitch) and this happened:
She sang the spell to him, encircled by symbols he would never recognize as a trap. She sang of her heartache at his hands, she sang of her innocence ripped out, of running barefoot through the night, thorns ripping at her feet as she fled into the mist.
She poured her heart into her control, her emotions the source of raw power, she hit notes better than ever before, her vocal chords as raw as her fingers once were when learning to master chords on guitar. The focus on the notes one at a time swept over her, each one glimmering like a dangling prism in the setting sun. She stood straight, feeling the colors of rainbows spread through her chakras, visualizing roots tapping into the power of the core of the earth, the element of passion, fire igniting her. She let the passion wave through the waters of her heart, simmering as her heart matched the fiery power of Gaia’s heartbeat, the gravity of her feet as she danced thundered with power as she twirled around in a clockwise manner, pulling up rising energy, sweating and frantic, until she could contain no more.
She turned to the crowd, opening her arms to welcome their thundering energy, shimmering to her as brightly as lightning flashing through the air.
She spun, imagining a sword rising from her fingertips, steely in the spotlights under the moon, visualizing it as solid and true. The blade pointed at her lover, her curse slicing through the air, his eyes startled when he heard the changes she made in secret to the lyrics of the song. His microphone crackled, snapped, exploded in his hand, as she transfered her heat to him, burning him alive in what would later be called an accident, faulty wiring, as she let true tears of grief fall from her eyes, venting the traumas in her heart to the moonless night. Grief for herself. Grief for a love that turned so dark. Grief that she had found revenge lived in her heart, after all.
P.S. – If the baby amuses you, it’s over here, along with several photos that I’ve uploaded and not announced yet.
P.P.S. – I also dusted off my old guide to using tarot as a fiction, journaling, or art prompt, and made it into pages here. The guide is from a more psychological interpretation of the tarot, rather than a guide to fortune telling.
Tippitiwichet 