The festival in the village square was alive with music, the scent of roasted chestnuts, and laughter echoing between the stalls. Cora Mills wandered near the edge, her eyes sharp, curious, and calculating as always. She loved observing people—their weaknesses, their desires, the ways she could influence them—but today, something unusual caught her attention.

A tent draped in midnight blue fabric shimmered with an unearthly light. At its entrance stood a fortune teller, her eyes like molten gold.

“Step inside, child,” the woman said, her voice like smoke curling around a candle flame. “I see things others cannot.”

Cora hesitated for a moment, intrigued despite herself. “I… I want to know what my future holds,” she said, stepping in.

Inside, the tent was filled with mirrors, candles, and mysterious artifacts. The fortune teller motioned for Cora to sit. She took her hands, eyes locked onto Cora’s.

“I see power in your hands,” she whispered. “You will rise higher than anyone you know. But beware… the path to greatness is lined with sacrifices. One you hold dear will not remain by your side.”

Cora’s eyes narrowed. She thought of you, of the quiet moments you shared, the laughter, the trust, the fleeting warmth that made her heart stir—things she had begun to cherish, but never fully admit.

“You mean… I’ll lose them?” Cora asked softly, almost to herself.

“Yes,” the fortune teller said. “The price of power is not always visible. Choose carefully, for your ambition will shape your destiny.”

Cora’s chest tightened. For a moment, she imagined a life with you, side by side, smiling, sharing secrets. But then… she imagined herself with influence, respect, and authority—her name whispered with awe, her talents unmatched. The allure of power, long buried within her, flared to life.

“I understand,” she whispered. And in that quiet moment, she made her choice.

Days passed, and Cora’s ambition intensified. She began studying magic with greater intensity, testing her skills, learning subtle ways to influence those around her. You noticed the change—the cold gleam in her eyes, the deliberate precision in her actions—but she smiled at you as always, keeping the truth hidden.

You tried to reach her, tried to speak to the girl you thought you knew, but she had already stepped onto a path that left no room for weakness.

And though she cherished the brief warmth you brought into her life, Cora Mills chose power. She would rise. She would be unstoppable. And in choosing greatness, she accepted the prophecy’s cost.

You remained in her life, close yet unknowingly distant, a quiet reminder of what she had sacrificed. And as her shadow stretched over the village, it became clear: young Cora Mills had made her first decisive choice, one that would echo through her life forever.

Power had a price. And she had paid it willingly.