ira
I do a simple four card fortune, she says. Ira has never believed in ghouls or witches; but a part of him, curious and childish, wishes to ask if she is one. For the most accurate reading, I suggest you shuffle the deck yourself. She extends the cards to him with a push of her leg; Ira raises them with his telekinesis and shuffles the deck deftly, as one does when they have spent their childhood playing card games on ships and in the streets.
“There you go,” Ira says, as he sets the shuffled deck back on her makeshift table. He attempts to convey a sense of gratitude; but remains, instead, unnerved. He realizes he cannot see her face and, perhaps, that is a prominent reason for why he feels so unsettled.
Then again, in a court of magicians and dreamers, he has grown accustomed to not always seeing a man—or woman’s—face. He settles his nerves with a deeper breath, reminding himself he is here by choice, not because he has been coerced. And, besides, he has always wanted his fortune told; with recent events, it seems even more applicable to his life.
And so, Ira waits.
“There you go,” Ira says, as he sets the shuffled deck back on her makeshift table. He attempts to convey a sense of gratitude; but remains, instead, unnerved. He realizes he cannot see her face and, perhaps, that is a prominent reason for why he feels so unsettled.
Then again, in a court of magicians and dreamers, he has grown accustomed to not always seeing a man—or woman’s—face. He settles his nerves with a deeper breath, reminding himself he is here by choice, not because he has been coerced. And, besides, he has always wanted his fortune told; with recent events, it seems even more applicable to his life.
And so, Ira waits.
@Salome / speaks / notes
