Look, I don't believe in this nonsense.
I don't. I'm not some gullible village girl who gets her palms read and thinks it means the gods are watching. Real oracles—proper ones—they've got licenses. Temples. Divine endorsements from something with at least six horns, a dozen pairs of hand, and a voice like thunder in heat. And those cost gold.
This? This is three copper pieces and a whiff of goat piss.
So no, I don't believe her. Or any of them. They're just roadside hags in shawls, mumbling spooky rhymes and fishing for coin from girls like me. And I am not the type.
Except... sometimes they get things weirdly right.
Like the one who said I'd meet a red-skinned lover who'd ruin my life and give me skin rashes. Or the one who said I'd fly with a beast of smoke and sorrow. Or that drunk in Lerida who shouted, "You got too many damn men, girl—pick one before the stars do!"
Not that I believed him either.
It's just… I've had some thoughts lately.
Weird ones.
Like: why do I keep having these vivid nightmares about swine headed nobility and weddings.
So no, I didn't come here for clarity.
I came here because I had a dream about being married to a literal pig in a dusty red cloak, and I've been jumpy ever since. I just wanted to… check something. Not fate. Not destiny. Just… vibes.
This isn't belief. It's not superstition.
It's curiosity. Morbid curiosity.
And maybe—maybe—I want to hear someone say I don't end up with a snout-faced noble and a straw mattress.
That maybe I get to choose.
Even if it's just for three copper pieces.
And if the old crone says something vaguely useful while sniffing my aura, great. If not, I'm out three coppers and one weird experience richer.
Just don't call it superstition.
This is economics.
Discount destiny.
And anyway—I only believe the bits that sound flattering.
She turned my palm running one brittle nail down the crease between thumb and wrist. It felt like a tiny blade tracing old wounds.
"You've had many men, girl," she rasped.
I didn't flinch. That wasn't news.
"And some women."
Still fine.
"And oh…" Her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared. "Well. That's between you and the gods."
I blinked. "What? What do you—?"
"Never mind."
She moved on, but I could feel the heat crawling up my neck. That was the blush. Damn it. My ears were burning now. She knew something. Or guessed it. Or made it up. Either way—I hated how it landed.
"There's something strange here," she went on, tracing a line along my palm with a trembling finger. "Like you… should've died. Six years ago."
I went still.
"Drowned, maybe," she mused. "Or burned. Hard to tell. Something ended here. But you didn't."
I gulped. My fingers twitched in hers, but she held tight. Her grip was like iron dipped in vinegar.
"There's a shadow over you, girl," she said. "A beast. No… the beast. Not a lover. Not a guardian. Something... ancient. It clings."
I swallowed again, harder this time. "Is he going to stay with me?"
She looked up, one brow lifting.
"The beast," I said quickly. "I mean. The dragon."
Her eyes narrowed. "A man, then."
"No—" I shook my head. "No. Not a man. He's—he's not like that. I mean, sometimes he is, but not… he's mine. That's the only word I have."
She leaned closer. I could smell her breath again—damp, bitter, wild.
"I want to know," I whispered. "About the twelve moons. There's… there's a curse. A family curse. He has to prove himself. And if he doesn't…" My voice caught. "They'll kill him. His own kin. I just—will he make it?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she turned my hand, pressing a thumb hard against the center of my palm. "Twelve moons," she murmured. "That's what you ask?"
I nodded.
Her lips pursed. "You're not asking about yourself."
I shook my head again. My heart felt loud. I wasn't even aware I'd stopped breathing.
"You shouldn't care this much," she said. Not cruelly. Just like it was a fact.
"I do."
She stared at me. Then, with a sigh, she reached for her cards.
"I'll ask," she said, and her voice dropped low, like she was about to say something forbidden.
And for once in my godsdamn life—I didn't interrupt.
I sat there with my palms still out like an idiot, the warmth of her thumb still lingering, my mouth dry and my head full of thunder. She shuffled the cards again, slower now. Like the air had thickened.
But I couldn't stop. Something about this place—her voice, that awful clove-salt smell, the way the mirror behind her never showed her back—was cracking me open like a walnut.
"And…" I cleared my throat. "Is there a knight?"
Her eyes didn't rise from the cards.
"A knight," I said again. "Smug. Good-looking. A pain in the ass. Probably a cheater. He smiles like the world owes him orgasms."
"Do you have feelings for this man?" she asked, finally glancing up.
"No! Absolutely not." My voice was too fast. "I mean. Not—no. He's just… around. Like a fungus. Or guilt."
The crone's eyes narrowed. "Do not lie to me, girl."
"I'm not!" I insisted, cheeks hot again. "It's just complicated."
She gave a noncommittal grunt and tapped one of the cards. The Lovers. Reversed.
I looked away. "Okay, okay, what about the Taurean?"
That got her attention. "The bull-born?"
"Yes," I said. "We… knew each other. Professionally." I coughed. "Also horizontally."
She smiled. Sharp. "You wonder if he will return?"
"I wonder if he's still alive," I muttered. "And if he misses me. And if he ever got that thing removed."
She didn't ask what I meant. Just pulled another card. The Chariot. Upright. My breath caught.
"And—" I hesitated.
Her eyes didn't blink. Just waited.
"The demon," I said finally. "Tall. Red-skinned. Horns. Too many teeth. Used to bring me goats."
"Does he frighten you?"
"No," I said. "I mean, yes. But not like that. I just—Is he mad at me?"
The crone pulled a another card. Held it between two fingers. The Tower, half-burned at the edges. She sniffed once. Then again.
"Mad?" she said softly. "Girl, he's waiting."
That was somehow worse.
"So…" I chewed the inside of my cheek, eyes on the cards like they might blink first. "So…"
She said nothing.
"So which one of them?"
Her gaze slid toward me. Slow. Heavy.
"The beast," she said flatly. "Stick with the beast."
"Oh." I blinked. "Really?"
The crone shrugged. "He's the only one who hasn't tried to sell you, seduce you, or summon you."
"Well," I said, suddenly very interested in the fraying edge of the tablecloth. "He does scold a lot."
"He keeps you alive."
I nodded. That was… fair.
I swallowed. "Will I ever be… you know. Happy?"
She didn't even pause. "Never."
"Bummer."
She tapped the cards again. "Not in the happy sense. Not in the bath-and-biscuits, children-and-chickens, quiet-little-home kind of happy."
I snorted. "Gods forbid."
"But—" She pulled a final card. The Devil. Then the Lovers. Then the Wheel. "You'll be blissed out," she said, voice dark as the bottom of a wine bottle. "When you meet that bull again."
My heart did a stupid skip. "Bollo?"
She nodded. "He will remind you what you used to howl for."
I smiled despite myself. "Gods, I miss that idiot."
She flipped the next card. Knight of Swords. Smirking.
"The knight," she said. "Will take your breath. And your coin. And maybe a rib."
"Sounds right."
"And the demon…"
I didn't breathe.
"Will break you in half. And leave you smiling."
"Great," I whispered. "Fantastic. Just what a girl needs."
"But none of them will stay."
I was quiet.
"They will mark you," she added. "But they won't remain."
"And the beast?" I asked.
She looked at me, old and tired and sharper than anyone had a right to be.
"He's already yours. That's the tragedy."