Two hundred and seven words. 15

by kvennarad

He made the girl a one-off tarocky pack, each female pasteboard subtled with her face, shown riding, old heraldic or and gules made with gold leaf and blood, and, while she (abstractedly) ate from a bag of chips, he laid them out, magesplaining thus: that the minor pack, the suit of cudgels scaling the low-born and guttersniped, but also stubborn, tenacious, resistant, determined, the family of swords, they eugenic and noble, quick to defend by attack, but also vain, the company of coins prudent or spendthrift, cautious or venal and easily bought, cups passion, showed her humours each in its proportion, and thereby her character; that the medians of castle, prince, mounted queen, and king gave the place of each minor in the whole of her; that the majors showed her arcane, her specific, led to a tale of her and the road she would have to walk down – in all this, the word he used most was “you,” and the girl noted this, squirmed in her seat, remembered she was a bus ride from home, and licked salt from her fingers, down to the cold taste of skin like cucumber (the soap she used) and the scratch of her fingernail on the roof of her mouth,


jupiter©Marie Marshall