A Reading,
“A noble question, young prince.” The old mare says with a youthful and almost devilish sort of glint in her gray, aged eyes. For a moment it's easy to wonder if she's really blind or if all that grayness is nothing more than another trick of the light (or a trick of magic).
Between them the cards, held loosely in her magic, start to dance. They arc between them and fall again. Two piles of them of the twist like serpents, around and around on the table until the whole tent is alive with feral cards. Here and there it's easy to catch a glimpse of a cup, a sword and something that looks almost like a moon even though it seems more black than silver on the ruby cards.
And then, just as suddenly as they started to dance, the cards collapse like corpses on the table. There is only one pile now and the mare draws three of them (with a flourish) from the deck and lays the cards face up before the Prince.
The first is the seven of cups, the second the four of swords and the last the ten of swords. Here the mare grows serious and beaks the silence with a sigh before she starts her reading. “It will not be an easy task, young one, to make sure everyone close to you is happy. The cards say there will be trials ahead, both in yourself and in the world.” She tries to smile, to gentle the darkness of the cards, but she's old and cold and her smile looks too full of teeth to be soothing.
“Stay strong and keep your eyes pointed to all the light in your heart instead of the darkness in the world around you. If you do that you might succeed in chasing away the sorrows of those around you and replace the with love and joy. Someday I think, Prince, you will be a great savior of a troubled world.” The mare quickly shuffles the cards back into the single pile before rising from the pillow and vanishing behind a shroud of silk.
But in the space she once filled two words seem to echo over and over again, like a chant. “Stay true.”
@Regis
Between them the cards, held loosely in her magic, start to dance. They arc between them and fall again. Two piles of them of the twist like serpents, around and around on the table until the whole tent is alive with feral cards. Here and there it's easy to catch a glimpse of a cup, a sword and something that looks almost like a moon even though it seems more black than silver on the ruby cards.
And then, just as suddenly as they started to dance, the cards collapse like corpses on the table. There is only one pile now and the mare draws three of them (with a flourish) from the deck and lays the cards face up before the Prince.
The first is the seven of cups, the second the four of swords and the last the ten of swords. Here the mare grows serious and beaks the silence with a sigh before she starts her reading. “It will not be an easy task, young one, to make sure everyone close to you is happy. The cards say there will be trials ahead, both in yourself and in the world.” She tries to smile, to gentle the darkness of the cards, but she's old and cold and her smile looks too full of teeth to be soothing.
“Stay strong and keep your eyes pointed to all the light in your heart instead of the darkness in the world around you. If you do that you might succeed in chasing away the sorrows of those around you and replace the with love and joy. Someday I think, Prince, you will be a great savior of a troubled world.” The mare quickly shuffles the cards back into the single pile before rising from the pillow and vanishing behind a shroud of silk.
But in the space she once filled two words seem to echo over and over again, like a chant. “Stay true.”
@
