Sigil

He was picking at his left forearm again. He’d scratched it red raw, which granted wasn’t a massive change from the normal reddish-pink hue that patch of skin usually boasted. Slightly off-colour thanks to the laser removal of what was a rather clumsy tattoo of a barn owl, wings outstretched. It was an impressive piece, but clumsy. Needle went a bit too deep, ink a bit thick. So it wasn’t the cleanest removal. But then again, She wasn’t a tattoo artist. She was an artist for sure, but inexperienced with that particular medium. He was in fact only Her second canvas, Her first being Her own right forearm where sat an identical bird. That was so long ago now. A lifetime ago, before Rachel.

Rachel, who sat there now, berating him about… something. He was having a hard time focusing lately. In fact, that was probably what Rachel’s lecture was all about. How ‘distant’ he’d been. They only moved here because of his work and now they were here, he seemed a million miles away. Not an unfair criticism, he could barely even focus on being criticised for not being present for this particular argument. But he had a defence, if he could muster the energy to mount it. He was exhausted. He’d barely slept since they’d moved back to this city.

Her city.

Yes, they’d moved here for his work, but that scarcely did justice to how monumental a decision that was. Rachel knew that coming back to the city was a big step for him. Not necessarily because it was a big step forward, but because it was a big step back. She knew this place was a part of his past. Knew it was his university city. Knew about the car crash. But there were things she didn’t know. She didn’t know about Her.

How could she know? How could he possibly tell her? Rachel was the love of his life, there was genuinely no question about that. But Her. She was something different. Something primal. Something he couldn’t possibly explain. Yes, he loved Rachel. With every fibre of his being. But Her. That was another matter entirely. When he was with Her, every atom of him burned. She was in his blood. Quite literally, as it happened. To call Her tattoo effort ‘clumsy’ was maybe being a bit kind. The deep, inky, homemade owl almost put him into septic shock all those years ago. But it was necessary. It was Her symbol. Her Sigil. A way for him to carry Her spirit with him. And his with Her. A bond of souls, ‘till death did they part. So, he broke no promises when he had the thing lasered off his arm in his last year at university.

She was very spiritual, but in a bizarre way that's hard to explain. Almost in an aggressive way, like She knew some secret that everyone else didn’t and that gave Her this insane confidence and authority. And power. That’s why he, a second-year student in evolutionary biology, had no hesitation in letting this girl with fiery red hair and no last name tattoo her Sigil on him. A mystical symbol capturing Her spirit. A symbol of the fortune and prosperity that awaited them once they decided to bind their souls together. And this wasn’t him going along with something to humour a pretty girl so she would like him, despite the sexual intelligence inherent to all second-year university students, regardless of what they study. When She said these things, he felt them. He didn’t need to believe them or even understand them, he felt them. In his bones, in his soul. That’s how he knew them to be true. That’s why he followed Her, wherever she led. No matter what happened. No matter who got hurt. Until death. And beyond.

Until death.

Until that night when She sent the car careening off the road. Seven of them packed tight inside, and him the only one to walk away. Not unscathed mind you, but with a fairly comprehensively broken arm for his troubles. One that tainted the canvas he had given Her and left Her owl deformed. So he had it scorched from his skin, to both honour Her and put Her firmly in the past without breaking their vow to each other; until death. Honouring the road not travelled and putting in the past a bullet firmly dodged. And he hadn’t returned to this city since.

But now he was here, in Her city. And from the first night he’d arrived, the skin on his forearm felt like it was on fire. She was calling, somehow. And he’d seen Her. In dreams, he’d seen Her. He’d followed Her to one of their old haunts, a dive bar that had somehow survived all these years of student accommodation developments. And through that haze of dream he’d been so close he could taste Her in the air, but he could never quite glimpse Her face. But he could see Her Sigil. Carved into the flesh of his left arm once again.

So yes, of course he was distant. He was exhausted. Sleep gave him no respite since his dreams took him through the city streets on the wings of an owl. Night after night. But how could he explain that to Rachel? Especially since…

Were they dreams? They were so vivid. The most powerful dreams always were, but these were different. He didn’t just feel exhausted when he woke up, his legs ached like he’d been walking for hours. He swears one morning his coat was wet from the rains that pelted through the night. But that was impossible. He’d spent the night in his bed. Their bed, next to Rachel.

And besides that, She was dead. He could believe following a ghost through his dreams night after night, but not literally through the streets of Her city. Regardless, he’d removed Her Sigil. She couldn’t find him. He was certain of this.

Which is why while the love of his life chastised him for his distance, for the damage it was causing, he could not help but be a million miles away. Because as he picked at his arm, beginning to draw blood, he could not draw his gaze away from a red-headed phantom staring over at him. With an impossible tattoo on her right forearm.