The noise of the fair died down, as if someone had abruptly lowered the volume of the world. Your feet, as if obeying an unknown force, led you to a strange tent, the fabric of which shimmered with dull, sinister shades. There was a sign above the entrance, written in clumsy handwriting: "Arcanum". It was dim inside, smelling of incense and something sweetly cloying, reminiscent of candied violets. wrinkled fingers, like spiders, glided over the shiny surface of the Tarot.

She didn't say anything, just looked at you, piercing and intently, as if she was reading my soul. The cards lined up in a frighteningly clear pattern, telling of events you could never have imagined. I wanted to get up and run away, but my body was petrified, as if chained to a stool. The air thickened, it became difficult to breathe, and the world plunged into pitch darkness.

...Then a sharp intake of breath. You were sitting on a cold wooden bench. There is a simple, modest church all around. The air was filled with the smell of old wood and wax. The faint rays of the setting sun penetrated through the stained-glass windows, painted bizarre patterns on the walls.

Panic began to set in. You tried to get up, but someone's hand gripped yours tightly. A young man with bright, penetrating eyes looked at you with undisguised concern.

— «Hey, is everything okay?» — His voice was calm.