i'm not a fortune teller
don't have a crystal ball
i can't predict the future
can't see nothing at all
There is a point in anyone's day, that they just need to wander.
Caelum had hit that point about five customers ago, who had the audacity to ask if she really knows that her tea only has the freshest ingredients. The look on their face as she quietly smiled, pulled out herbs from her satchel at her feet, casually pushed them forward, and explained as gently as she could that tea is made with dried herbs was obnoxious. He then had the audacity to further question if she could guarantee that the teas where what she advertised.
She had smiled wider, her eyes narrowed.
She had chopped the lemongrass, rose petals and eucalyptus in front of him, packaged it all up to be brewed in a cup, and kindly told him how he could have that package for free if he didn't stop by her booth again for the rest of the festival. She had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't see him in her shop either, but the fae didn't mind. It had been the last bothersome interaction she could handle, however.
So she had left her little stall.
She glided through the air, fairy dust left in her wake, her smile soft, quiet, that slight painful clinch in her eyes visible as she flew through the heart of the festivals that brought a melancholic, bittersweet feeling to her heart. To be part of a festival where fae weren't dancing and laughing freely just felt so wrong. But she didn't pause, didn't hesitate, even as those purple hyacinth that had been growing in her hair since she stepped into this festivities, didn't stop appearing, didn't stop bleeding petals. She had faith few would see the flowers, and know what they meant in regards to her mood.
Arriving at the slower festival tents, her ears perk at the sounds of disenchanted individuals.
Words of complaint and skepticism, all because a fortune teller had told them what they hadn't wanted to hear. Her curiosity was perked, and it wasn't long for her to find the tent that must have caused them such distress. The fae hesitated before touching hoof to ground, wincing at the volley of flowers that sprang up as soon as her hooves made purchase. Ignoring them, the summer fae approached the opening to the tent, her hoof gently wrapping against a hard piece of wood, careful to not knock the tent down, but also garnering the attention of the teller inside.
She felt that awkwardness settle, an emotion the fae hadn't felt for a long time.
She stood still, iridiscent wings folding against her back, with a final shower of fairy dust that seemed to encourage the flowers that grow where her hooves step, forming a small circle around her, bluebells, and yellow zinnia. Small sprigs of oleander surrounded by white poppies and dark crimson roses. All intermingling with that purple hyacinth that grows so strongly, even in her own hair.
The fae gently shifts back ivory hair, a slight smile on her muzzle as she garners the other's attention.
"I apologize for the intrusion, I do not see a sign declaring if you are open to visitors at the moment? I was wondering if you would have the time for a simple reading. I don't need much . . ." There's a pause, her hoof scraping against flowers, pulling up a few, "I don't even know what I would ask . . . " She laughs then, the sound shier than she normally exhibits, proof of how uncertain she is, how she's second guessing herself for her curiosity that led her to approach.
She looks down, her heart swaying, before she found her voice again.
"Perhaps I'm just lost . . . and have only begun to realize I need to search for answers." The fae looks up again, brown eyes warm in that storm-tinted face, "Oh, I'm being so rude, asking for services with out even introducing myself. My name is Caelum . . . Caelum Knoxx . . . and well, like I said, I'm not even sure why I'm here . . . just that . . . it seemed right?" Still she kept at the door, not about to intrude with out permission.
Even as she hoped some answers may await her inside.
It was only the first day of festival activity and Nefertari was pretty sure she had made a mistake by offering her talents to the masses. While there were plenty of patrons who were polite and curious, there were still just as many others who called her a hoax, despite living in a world full of magic. She’d managed to contain her irritation and her sharp tongue for the most part, flicking her audits in frustration and pointing out the obvious. How could you call her a charlatan if you yourself walked around able to conjure fire at will? She would never understand the cognitive dissonance that overtook people when confronted with the truth.
The couple had departed and the seer was now going about cleansing her deck and re-grounding herself. The mare didn’t like the sticky residue that clung to her cards after the stallion had left in such a huff, refusing to acknowledge that his wife was absolutely going to find out about his mistress, especially if he kept parading her around the festival site. Foolish men. The woman snorted, forcing out the disgust she felt to make room for neutrality once more. Her dusky pelt shivered as she tried to shake off the last tendrils of his presence in her tent when another customer appeared.
She noticed the flowers first, the way they sprung from nothing and reached for the delicate pistons they grew around. Those limbs were attached to a fairly pretty mare, a fae-thing with pearlescent dragonfly wings dusted in a glimmering powder that seemed to prompt more plant growth. Her mane and tail were soft waves of stark white against her rich blue roaning and sooty dark points. A tangle of starpointed flowers wove through her hair and just kept appearing, much like the flora that danced at her feet.
The fae creature shifted nervously, tucking an errant lock of hair out of her vision, soulful chocolate eyes meeting golden disks. She doesn’t hold the eye contact long, her gaze retreating to the colourful buds at her hooves, digging at them shly, explaining that she’s curious for a reading, but doesn’t want to impose.
If Nefertari had to describe the woman in one word it would be unsure. She stood in the entryway of the tent, not crossing the threshold, her plants carefully arranged in a halo about her feet so as not to intrude. She held her slight frame so that it would take up even less space, her voice timid, even as she fought to be polite and vibrant.
As the mid-day sun caressed her backside, the clairvoyant thought she might see a flicker of who she really was, buried underneath. She introduced herself as Caelum, and that while she might have been lost, this felt right. The fortune teller couldn’t have agreed more.
The mare motioned to the empty pillow across from her, offering a gentle smile to the fae. “Well met, Caelum,” she said softly. “You may call me Nefertari. Do not apologize; if the universe has brought you here, it has done so with a reason.”
The clairvoyant reached for her deck, beginning to shuffle, alternating her gaze between the cards and the summerchild standing between the realm of earthly things and the cosmos. “Even if you do not have a question in mind, I can assure you the universe has an answer for you.”
She continued to shuffle, and regardless if the mare chose to come inside- though the clairvoyant was fairly certain she would- she started to place the well loved deck into three distinct piles of equal height in the center of her table, the soft gold inlay glittering in stray sunbeams against the black silk tablecloth.
i'm not a fortune teller
don't have a crystal ball
i can't predict the future
can't see nothing at all
Had you asked, the fae would have denied her stance.
That she was at the turning point in her life. A path that would lead to despair, but regrowth. A path of suffrage, that if she played her own cards just right, she'd come out of it more sure of the ground she stands on. She is uncertain as she stands at the doorway of one such place that could hold the answers to the questions she does not know she has. To questions, she's not sure she wants to know. The teller motions then, towards the empty pillow, and the fae moves forward half a step before pausing when the flowers follow her that short distance.
Her wings snap open, carrying her that distance instead.
It's the first solid evidence of her own dismissal of who she is. The Summer Queen denies the flowers their mistress. It was her mother they should be clinging to, not to her limbs. She folds herself onto the pillow, limbs tucking under her delicately, her hair falling across the floor in an ivory carpet, those long locks gently curling at the ends as they lay in rest. Why was she here again? Sitting down now, she felt like her heart would hammer out of her chest.
But she didn't move.
The smile offered had been gentle, and Caelum returned it in kind, with all the grace of a queen at her disposal. Her head inclines, eyes half-closed, the picture-perfect representation of poise and grace. Where the mare greets her, the greeting from her muzzle alarms her own muzzle startles her even more than her willing approach, "Salve, Nefertari." The tongue of her people flows, gentle, the accent usually there a little more distinct by the natural use of latin.
She flushes, fidgeting slightly, "I mean . . . hello."
Where had that come from? The summer fae was more uncertain than ever of her approach, and yet she did not move, instead, she offered a frail smile when she is told that if she was led here, it's for a reason, "I have no intention to lie, it is the reason I am most afraid of . . . But . . . I grow weary of running." The fae admitted, as she watches the cards begin to be shuffled, told that even if she does not have a question in mind, there is an answer waiting for her.
She was wrong, she realizes; as her heart clenches on the word 'Answer'.
Still, the deck is soon shuffled and cut into three equal piles on the center of the table, and the child of summer quietly nods her head, before indicating to the left most pile, "That one seems to shine to me, but it may also just be the sun." She finally states, her voice hesitant, but unwavering. She may be nervous about what was to come - but she had no intention to back away now.
When the fae women was met in greeting a bit more of her regal countenance appeared. She took the proffered cushion, albeit she had made the odd choice to float above the grass the scant few feet to it. The soothsayer noted that the flowers did not follow her hovering form, dissipating once her hooves were no longer touching the earth. Something about that sudden burst of life made the winged woman uncomfortable enough she would rather risk her wings bumping into persons or things than leave any evidence of whatever skill or magic she carried inside of her. The blooms left behind seemed to sigh in despair, relaxing into the soft grass of the plains, but not disappearing. The dusky mare wondered briefly how long those blooms might stay there, if not forever.
Caelum settled into the patchwork pillow with grace, her returned statement in a foreign tongue, rich and delicious like honey. Something old and exotic that tickled at the Solterran woman’s ears in a pleasant manner. She quickly corrected her speech, self conscious at the obvious slip. The seer flicked an ear dismissively, not at all bothered by the woman’s choice of words, starting to put the puzzle pieces together. She’d seen similar actions in young ladies just learning to become part of nobility and court life. While the fae woman appeared older than any of those fillies that Nefertari would have associated the behaviour with, it still echoed in the back of her mind.
She spoke of her fear, though the arabian cross didn’t need to be told. “When we try to run from our destinies, from ourselves, we only end up running ourselves ragged by the time it catches up to us,” she said simply. It was so much easier to say such things to strangers, to offer sage advice to others and speak it as infallible truth, rather than internalize it. The twilight woman was speaking as much to the summer child as she was to herself, though she’d never admit it.
As Caelum indicated her deck cut of choice, Nefertari stacked the two other halves neatly atop each other, pressing her muzzle to the surface of the cards and whispering a quiet thanks before setting them off to the side. The seer then began to lay out the cards from the portion of the deck that the fae had chosen, flipping them over one by one.
A card displaying a rearing stallion with three large staves at his sides, turned so that Caelum might be able to read the gold embossed lettering that said “Three of Wands” at the edge of the image.
A second card, a full moon and a languid mare thrown into silhouette, a golden tear tracing the curve of her cheek.
A third, stallion decorated in iron armour atop a single gold coin. This too, is turned so that it can be read from the patron’s side, “Knight of Pentacles”.
A fourth card displaying the cycles of the moon, the corners holding representations of earth, air, fire and water, an elegant hourglass flanked by two rearing equines placed at the center of the image.
Nefertari remains neutral as she ponders the cards for a silent moment, then drawing four more cards, pairing them with each of the first, placing them down in the same order of left to right.
A wealthy mare scattering coins as she dances, colourful scarves twirling about her frame as young colts and fillies delight at her periphery. This card is turned in match to its counterpart, reading “Six of Pentacles”.
A screaming buck, eyes wild as swords dance around him, lightning flashing in the background, his body stark white against the otherwise dark image. The lettering that faced Caelum read “Ten of Swords”.
A filly snubs her nose at a line of young suitors offering her various gifts, a pile of glittering trinkets lying ignored at her feet, among them several jeweled goblets. “Five of Cups” the card proclaims to the fae woman across the table.
A hefty draft looks out over a garden, seven sunflowers blooming with golden coins for their center, a gentle smile on his features.
The clairvoyant looks at each of the cards individually, then as couplets, as single entities and as one. Her golden orbs are unwavering, her breath steady in her creamy chest as she leans across the table, beginning to speak, her voice soft at first, distant.
“Whoever he is,” she says, “He is not who you think, Caelum. He does not speak in whole truths, and you are not using your gods-given wisdom to see it. I understand, though.” The mare sighed. “It is easy to fall into men when we do not want to fall into ourselves. But you must,” she pushed The Moon towards the fae.
“You must look into yourself, Caelum. What is it that makes you so afraid? You know the answers that you seek. Why does this knowledge frighten you so?” The woman tilted her head, flaxen locks falling about her shoulders and spilling across the edge of the table, golden pools searching. “You are causing your own grief, by ignoring these things. You are troubling yourself with woes that may not come to pass, but holding onto the grief that comes with these illusions will only cause more sorrow.
“You cannot refuse to grow. You must stop running, Caelum. Stop turning to anyone and everyone else in hopes that the outcome will change. That they will put a cease to your suffering. The caterpillar must first be undone to become a butterfly. You know this, and only prolong the hurt the more you refuse to build the cocoon.”
Nefertari’s lyrics are pleading now, tears starting to well in her eyes, an ache forming in her chest. “You know who you are.” She sucks in a shaking breath. “There is only good waiting for you, if you will only accept it, embrace it. Become who you have always been meant to be. Everything that you have lived through has led you to this moment. The seeds were sown and now it is time to bask in the glory of the sun. Things were set in motion long before you were created and long after you are gone. Fighting against destiny has only brought you suffering and grief, but this,” She moves the final card towards the woman, the contented expression of the draft stallion as he oversees his bounty highlighted by the pillars of light streaming through the tent.
“This is what is waiting for you when you finally release the sorrow and embrace the wonderful things that are coming to you.”
i'm not a fortune teller
don't have a crystal ball
i can't predict the future
can't see nothing at all
There is a sense of anxiety that grows in her belly.
That ball of movement, and jitters, and heat continues to grow with each card. Pentacles and Cups and Horses in poses, none of it made sense, but as more cards are laid out, that ball of rustling mesh in her belly grows, and grows, and grows. And then the woman is speaking. The 'he' catches Caelum's attention and she looks up, puzzled. Someone not speaking truths? Well. Boleyn never answers her questions directly. Vikander doesn't really talk to her at all. At least Seb is open with her. But if it's someone not speaking truths - and she's not seeing it - it must be the weakness of Boleyn and his actions surely. Where his actions, so similar to Trey's so long ago make her clouded to the truth . . . or could it be related too . . . "Do, uh, do they say which he it is?? There is kinda a few options." She admitted awkwardly, "Just friends I mean. I do not just lay with any man I meet . . . but."
Caelum feels that need to bolt again.
Could she have made herself out to be any more of a whore. She wasn't necessarily falling into men . . . it was just talking . . . The next card is pushed forward and Caelum frowns when she is told to look inside, to ask what makes her afraid. Caelum doesn't want to of course, that was why she was here, why she was avoiding actual soul searching. Because running from the past was easier. Running from the future was easier. Running from the pain was easier. She'd been fighting so long, easy was nice. But causing her own grief, likely isn't. She can see the logic in the mare's words. To just accept things, to move forward, but that was where she struggled. That was where the crippling pain of regret and loss brought her to her knees and she fell victim to the weight with out anyone there to help her hold it up.
It had become too much weight for one person.
And a large part of that was from her continual running from accepting herself so she could accept that weight. She flinches visibly when she's told she knows who she is. For a moment she can almost taste summer on her tongue, feel it on her back. SHe shakes these phantom sensations away, swallowing hard as she's told to accept who you've always meant to be . . . But it wasn't her. It was his father. Is father wore Summer like a cloak. Her mother whispered to the flowers and made them snuggle. Not her, never here. Even as the image in the final card is pushed forward, Caelum's eyes are terrified now, "I . . . I don't want to be her . . . I don't want to be that mare." Her voice is suddenly so much younger than her age betrays, her proper speech and mannerisms disappearing in a moment of weakness. Like a little filly begging for her mother. "It's not me . . . They are my parents titles. My father's duty to uphold. Momma's gift. Not mine. They didn't give them to me. It wasn't passed down. It's like I stole them, just as they were stolen from me. I . . . I don't want it." The truth stung her so hard, hearing that proclamation, and knowing a part of her was being honest, even if a larger part of her rose up to deny it. "I don't want it like this. She amends, and it feels better, right.
She reaches towards that happy card, her muzzle caressing the edges.
"Do we truly get second chances at happiness? What about third? or fourth? I've had it before - more than once. And it was always stolen from me so soon. Is it wrong to be afraid? History repeats itself . . . . Any historian could show evidence of this." The inner child is soothed, and slowly Caelum comes back to herself, her words and speech pattern smoothing out, the contractions going away again, "History has repeated in my life three times already. There is far more than just my happiness to lose, every time my world falls apart, the catastrophe has further reach . . ." She sighs, "That is what I have been telling myself for so long, that is. I know so much of it is fear on my part to take those steps. There is so much I have been running from, so much I feel guilty for. But when I try to take on those burdens, work through them; it feels like a I am suffocating beneath those pressures."
She sighes again, shaking her head once, twice, three times.
"And my destiny, should not have been handed to me like this. It iss not my time to take the mantle. It is wrong. I have done nothing to deserve the gifts my parents weild." The fae drops her head, and for the first time in the going on four years since her parents death, the words leave her muzzle, out loud, acknowledging that fact for the first time in Novus, "I am a pitiful excuse for Summer Queen." The seelie mare admits, seemingly slumping into the pillows, "I am not worthy to carry the mantle of the season."
