The Color of Magic

SEEING GREEN

If there was one thing Marinette Dupain-Cheng were ever certain of, it is that a downpour of rain is inclined to come precisely when one wishes it would not. Her trusty galoshes, an eye catching shade of baby blue, carry her through puddles and across the narrow cobbled streets of the City of Love. Her bangs stick wet against her forehead, as she looks to one side and the other to make sure traffic is clear.

The weight of baked goods, still warm despite the morning's chill weighs on her dampened shoulders. Of course the pastries are kept dry as the hearth back at the bakery, nestled within the large canvas bag that is slung across her back. It is a bag she made herself, with hours of embroidery woven in patterns of pink and gray, among other colors. One large and golden sunflower stitched with care, stretches under her fingertips as she reaches back to adjust the load.

Normally she does not make deliveries on foot. As luck would have it, her bike is out of commission, crippled by a bent spoke in the front wheel. She's had ill balance ever since she can remember, and a run in with a bright red hydrant has left her on foot, in this torrential rain. Yet she goes on, one boot in front of the other.

"Miserable." She shudders as she steps from beneath the shop awning that shielded her for a stretch of sidewalk. "Simply miserable."

The street brings her to its next junction. Her delivery route should take her left, yet a knot in her stomach stops her in her tracks. If she is to turn that way, she will be walking straight into the area where Cœur de Pierre wreaked terror last week. A shiver runs down her spine, as she recalls the stories. The monster had been built of stone, and strong enough to lift buses, to breakthrough buildings, they'd said. Though the monster may be gone now, she has no wish to see what it has left behind.

In spite that it will take longer, in spite of the storm that has not shown signs of letting up, she continues straight, to take a round about way. Better to catch cold than run into a magical beast any day of the week. If only these terrors could be cured with some cough syrup and a bowl of her Mama's chicken soup.

As she passes a home, another creature entirely catches her eye. A cat, black like licorice, has perched himself on the steps, just under the mantle of the door. This offers him little shelter, yet he doesn't seem to mind the wet all that much. Marinette grows envious, and wishes she could turn into a duck, or something better suited to this day's weather.

Down Rue du Malheur she walks, steps quicker, heart faster. A rumble of thunder echoes through the clouds, bumping against the rooftops above. It's become a while since she last saw someone else traveling the sidewalks, and the cold talons of fear sink into her. What if she is caught all alone, and a creature rears its head? One with glowing eyes, with fangs sharper than her Papa's kitchen knives?

At least if she is taken, there will be a trail of breadcrumbs for the police to follow. Quite literally, as the orders she has yet to deliver will be lost just the same. Now there's an idea. If she is attacked, she can offer the pastries as a peace offering, or a distraction that may serve long enough for her to get away. Clumsy and frightened as she may be, a monster would have to be on his toes to get her. At least, this is what she tries to comfort herself with. It does not work very well.

Marinette cannot help but feel she is being watched. A glance over her shoulder catches something small and dark trailing behind her. She nearly trips over her own galoshes, but lets out a pant of relief when she realizes it is simply that cat she saw on the porch step a block back.

"You don't seem to mind the rain, do you? You must be lucky. For a black cat, anyway."

The cat trots to be at her side, and looks up with striking peridot eyes."Merh."