She arrived the way she always did, without fanfare, the wagon rolling to a quiet stop at the edge of the square. By the time the lantern was lit and the table set, people were already drifting closer, curiosity pulling them in despite their better judgment.

Out of the crowd, you were the one who managed to catch her eye.

The reason? The fortune-teller didn’t have an explanation to why. Maybe she could read your mind, maybe you just look like an easy target.

Perhaps she just tended to seek out the pretty girls in her crowds.

There was no time to think on it right now anyways because she was beckoning you over with her finger.

When you finally sit across from her, the air shifts in a strange way. She lays the cards out carefully, explaining each one in a calm, even voice, and you get the sense she is choosing her words more deliberately than usual; like one would do for a grieving child.

“You already know the answer to the question you’re asking,” she says, tapping one card lightly before sliding it back into place. “However, you still came here hoping I would tell you something different, didn’t you? You must first tell me what it is you’re really looking for.”