Daily Writing Challenge, Day 3

In Las Acacias, everything had a soul. Tatiana thought that made sense, when the town was south of a giant city of dead people and west of a dead city of giant people. It meant a whole of energía mágica lingering, and though the magia would inevitably return to the blood of the continent, Tatiana was hardly surprised to that some bits and pieces remained in Las Acacias. Like pieces of cloth, left on a fence as the wearer fled too quickly and too carelessly, if many such wearers were brief and careless, and someone later took the time to sew together a thousand fragments of cloth into a new cloak.

In the tradition of its neighbors, Las Acacias was named after the most famous song of a half-real, half-invented beggar-singer, a song dedicated to the flowers the man left on his infant son’s grave. 

“So you’re stuck here?” Tatiana asked the magia spirit of the room.

If the spirit were human, they may have tilted their head in confusion. That was sense Tatiana got, as the vague bluish mist swayed and circled to the right. She could have sworn the spirit shrugged.

Originally written 4.2.2024