|5 B.M.W|
The sun burned high in the sky, scattered with only a few drifting clouds.
A blue butterfly fluttered its wings gently, its colors catching the light.
After a few soft beats, it settled on a flower in a pot hanging by a window.
Leaning against the window, a brown-haired boy watched it with the same innocent hue in his eyes.
He reached out to touch it, but it startled and fluttered away.
"Aw."
His face was dusted with dirt, making him sneeze lightly as the powder scattered into the air.
When he opened his eyes, a wide grin spread across his face, revealing a gap where a canine tooth should have been.
In his hands was a tattered cloth doll, with only a few strands of hair left and no clothes.
"Good morning, Mr. Trinkles."
He said, giving the doll a few light pats to brush off the dust.
One of them knocked a button eye loose.
"Oops."
His smile faded as his hand—fingers dotted with a few bandages—tried to fix the eye back in place.
Thinking he had fixed it, he pulled his hand away and smiled.
Only for the eye to pop loose again, left hanging.
Frowning, he simply shrugged before placing the doll on a small chair, facing a little table.
"Wait there, we'll start your session in a moment."
He said to the doll, his smile returning.
Then he turned back to the box and climbed in again.
Leaning forward, he pulled out a small, old brown box and turned toward the doll, closing the red box behind him.
The smaller box was made of wood, clearly aged. Around it, faint marks could be seen.
It carried the scent of rotting wood.
But he didn't seem to mind.
Walking over to the table, he sat on a small stool across from the doll.
His eyes lingered briefly on the box, fixed on the symbol carved into its lid.
It was made of three shapes: an oval on the outside, a rectangle within it, and, at the center, a triangle.
Opening the box with care, the atmosphere seemed to grow heavy.
His breath caught for a moment.
His eyes fixed on what lay inside.
Setting it down on the table, he brought his hands to it and, with a careful motion, drew out what was inside.
In his hands lay a strange deck.
The backs of the cards were blue, with golden lines along the edges meeting at every corner.
At the center, a fully gilded diamond.
"Wow."
He murmured, wide-eyed, before swallowing hard.
Then he shifted his gaze to the doll sitting upright across from him.
"Alright, let's begin."
And he started shuffling the cards, moving them through his hands with some difficulty.
Every now and then, a card slipped lightly from his hands.
His eyes lifted to the doll once more.
"So… how would you like the cards to guide you?"
He stared at the doll for a while, blinking a few times.
The doll remained there, its head tilted to the side.
The boy gave a tight smile, stopping his shuffle.
"Ah, yes. Great question."
Placing the deck on the table, he extended his hand toward the doll.
"With your left hand… uhh—split the deck into… three?"
He stared at the doll for a while, one cheek puffed as his hands rested on his thighs.
After a moment, leaning on the table, he bent toward the doll.
Taking its left hand, he guided it to the deck and split it into three piles.
Just as he was about to return to his seat, the doll fell to the floor.
"Ah—"
He quickly stood and set it back on the chair, straightening its posture.
Returning to his place, he sat down and gave a few soft, fake coughs with his hand over his mouth.
Then, with his left hand hovering above the cards, he explained,
"Each of these piles represents what is yet to come."
"But don't worry," he "reassured" him, drawing one card from each pile and placing them at the center of the table.
"The cards don't represent an unchangeable future—each one shows you a possible path."
He explained, before raising his brows and giving a small shrug.
"Or something like that."
Once he finished, he brought his hand to the card on his far right.
"Alright, let's see what your first card says…"
Gripping it by the edge, he turned it over carefully so as not to flip it the wrong way.
On the card was a tower standing atop a hill; behind it, a storm tore through the landscape as a bolt of lightning struck its peak.
Two figures were falling from it.
He let out a low whistle, flashing a grin at the doll.
"The Tower… huh?"
Bringing a hand to his chin, he slipped into a thoughtful expression.
If I remember right, the Tower has something to do with change.
"Anyway—"
He moved on to the middle card, gently lifting one edge.
"You're in for a lot," he simplified, waving his other hand.
Turning over the next card, he raised one brow.
On it was a humanoid creature with the head and horns of a goat.
Its torso and arms were human, but it had the legs of a bull and five fingers tipped with sharp claws.
From its back spread bat-like wings.
On its left stood a naked woman, horns on her head and a tail trailing behind her.
To the right, a man drawn in the same way.
Both were chained to one another by the neck.
The Devil?
With a puzzled expression, he scratched his head.
I've never seen this one before—what does it mean?
He sat there for a moment, thinking, swaying from side to side with his knees tucked up on the stool, the wood creaking beneath him.
Could it be something about evil? There's a man and a woman… maybe it's lust?
His eyes briefly fell on the chains before lifting again to the doll.
"What do you think, Mr. Trinkles?" He asked, tilting his head.
Met with silence, he shrugged and moved on to the last card.
"You've been a little naughty, huh?" He said to the doll with a cheeky smile as he lightly lifted the card.
"Now, let's see—"
But before he could turn it over, his pupils dilated slightly.
His gaze snapped to his bedroom door.
Someone's coming.
Out in the hallway, the weight of footsteps creaked through the wood, slipping in through the crack beneath the door.
He quickly gathered the piles of cards—along with the three he had already drawn—and stuffed them back into the box.
He shut it and hid it behind himself just as the door opened.
As it opened, a woman leaned slightly into the room.
"Oh? You're already up?" She asked with a gentle smile, pushing the door open further as she stepped inside.
"Morning, Mom."
He greeted her with a fake whistle, avoiding her gaze.
The woman before him shared his hair and eye color. Faint lines beneath her eyes hinted at the beginning of middle age.
She wore jeans and a simple black shirt.
"Morning, Mike," she replied, one brow raised, a hint of suspicion in her smile.
"What are you hiding there?" she asked, her gaze dropping to his arms.
"Huh? It's nothing."
he replied with a nervous smile.
She narrowed her eyes, and a bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck.
"Alright then…" she said, eyes still narrowed, before turning and heading for the door.
"Your grandma's waiting for you—go get ready."
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Don't forget to bring the deck."
The sudden reminder startled him, and he paused before answering,
"I won't."
As her footsteps faded away, he let out a quiet sigh.
That was close.
He walked over to his wardrobe, grabbing a red shirt and a pair of denim shorts.
Before leaving the room, he turned back to the doll, still seated on the chair.
"See you later, Mr. Trinkles."
Then he stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
A moment later, the doll slowly tilted—before slipping off the chair and hitting the floor with a soft thud.
…
|Mike POV|
On the way to my grandma's house, my focus stayed on the car window.
Maybe I'll see something interesting today.
As always, the neighborhood streets were quiet, only a few cars coming and going.
Sometimes, I spotted kids around my age.
…
The sky was clear.
I think today's going to be a great day.
"Excited?" My mom asked from the front seat, her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road.
Oh, right.
Today's the day my grandma is going to do my reading.
My family has been raising fortune tellers for generations. When a child is close to turning twelve, they must receive a reading from the most experienced one.
"Yes! I can't wait for my turn to start doing readings!"
I exclaimed, almost bouncing in my seat.
My mom let out a muffled laugh from the front, her hand covering her mouth.
Suddenly, she started coughing, making my brows knit together.
Her cough had begun recently—out of nowhere. And since then, it had been getting worse each day.
I stayed quiet for a moment, the sound of the engine and her coughing filling the silence.
When she stopped, I asked,
"Are you okay, Mom?"
Through the rearview mirror, she gave me a gentle smile.
"Yes, yes. It's just a cough—I told you."
But I could see the way her eyelids twitched, trying to hide it.
My chest tightened, and I lowered my head.
I hate it when she lies to me.
I've already told her to see a doctor.
She keeps insisting there's nothing wrong.
After my dad died, she threw herself into work, never taking any time to rest.
I miss him so much.
But she needs to take care of herself.
…
I don't want to lose her too.
"We're here."
|3rd POV|
Lost in thought, Mike didn't even notice they were already near his grandma's house.
He lifted his head, his gaze settling on the old house.
It stood farther from the other houses in the neighborhood, surrounded by tall trees.
The paint was worn, with a few vines creeping along its pale yellow walls.
The windows looked almost antique, made of sturdy wood.
Up on the roof, some tiles hung loose, nearly falling, while birds sang from above.
Set atop a hill, the house caught a stronger breeze. The wooden windows rattled as the trees swayed.
The scent of damp earth and the warmth of sunlight filtering through the branches felt comforting.
As he opened the car door, Mike jumped out.
The weight of his body splashed mud across the lawn, dirtying his shoes.
He quickly grabbed onto the door as his feet slipped beneath him.
Steadying himself, he shut it.
Good thing I wore shorts, he thought.
His attention was pulled by the door on the other side closing, his mother walking around the car toward him.
"Look what you did to your shoes." she said, noticing the mess.
Mike lowered his head, pouting. "Sorry."
Looking at him, she couldn't help but sigh.
Ruffling his hair, his mother gave him an exasperated smile.
"It's alright, it happens."
The touch made him lift his head, and he smiled back at her.
"Let's head inside—watch your step."
"Okay!"
Side by side, the two walked toward the old wooden door.
Carved into it was a crest of blooming roses.
In the small crevices, moss had begun to grow.
When they pushed it open, it gave with a hollow creak.
They left their shoes on a brown mat that read "Welcome."
The small house was dim, lit only by the few open windows.
The scent of incense overpowered the smell of damp earth.
Looking around, the two noticed water dripping from the ceiling.
"She still hasn't called someone to fix the roof?"
The boy's mother paused, frowning.
Mike wandered between the small tables scattered throughout the house, each displaying an old artifact—
vases, paintings, plaques, and statues.
He stopped in front of a particular one.
Above it hung a silver dagger, its sheath made of the same metal.
Its hilt was carved into a melting heart.
The other items were antiques, but this one looked almost new.
Curious, he stepped closer, reaching out to touch it.
WOOOOSH!
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind slammed into the house.
The windows began to bang repeatedly, echoing throughout the rooms.
Startled, Mike quickly pulled back from the dagger, his gaze snapping to the windows.
His mother rushed to close them.
Seeing his mother struggling, he set the relic aside and ran to help her.
When he reached one of the windows, he saw gray clouds gathering on the horizon.
A wind so strong it seemed to weigh down the trees followed them.
It's going to rain again, he thought, watching flashes of lightning streak by in the blink of an eye.
As the sky cleared once more, he shut the window.
"Oh! You've arrived," a raspy voice exclaimed behind them.
Turning toward the voice, a gray-haired old woman in a tunic smiled, her teeth slightly yellowed.
In her right hand, her bony fingers held a pipe, smoke curling from it.
With the other, she supported her old legs on a black cane.
"Hi, Grandma!"
Mike replied, trying to keep his distance.
"Huh?" she called out, tilting her ear toward him.
"Come closer—this old woman can't hear you from there."
She stepped nearer, her hand bringing the pipe to her lips.
With a deep draw, she lit the contents in the bowl and then pursed her lips, blowing the smoke in his direction.
The bitter scent filled his nose, stinging slightly.
He immediately backed away, stopping behind his mother.
The woman sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"Mom, stop that."
She replied with a raspy chuckle.
"Oh, please! That's what's kept me alive all this time!—ahem—I'm just taking care of my grandson."
Her daughter sighed once more, exasperated.
"I'm not sure I believe that."
"Blah, blah, blah—whatever." She shrugged, using her cane to tap her daughter's foot.
"Ow! Mom!" the woman yelped, dropping to a knee to rub it.
As she took it, she pressed it against her face.
Lowering it, she looked at her grandson with irritation.
"You've been messing with it, haven't you?!"
"Huh?" he yelped, startled.
A moment later, he scratched his cheek, muttering,
"Just a little…"
"Humph."
She huffed, tucking the box into her pocket before grabbing his cheek.
"This isn't a toy, you little brat."
"Ow! Sorry, Grandma!"
She huffed again, turning with a sharp look toward the boy's mother.
"At least someone wanted to take part in the tradition."
Her daughter frowned at her.
"You're still on about that?"
"Of course I am! My daughter had the potential to become one of the greatest fortune tellers—until that bastard took her away from here!"
That earned her an irritated look.
"Don't say that. You know that's not true."
"That whole 'Oh, Mom, but I love him!' nonsense? What a load of rubbish—let's just get on with the reading."
Without giving her time to reply, the old woman headed down the hallway, passing through a few hanging curtains.
The woman sighed before following her along with the boy, who felt uncomfortable with what his grandmother had said.
As they reached the curtains, the scent of incense drifted through, along with a faint glow from the gaps.
They parted the light silk curtains and stepped through.
Inside, Mike's gaze wandered around the room.
Several candles cast a dim light over the room.
Incense sticks burned on scattered shelves, releasing thin trails of sharp, pungent smoke.
At the center of the room, his grandmother sat at a table, a single incense stick surrounded by candles.
She focused on the small box, murmuring under her breath.
Noticing them, she raised her head.
"Sit."
She pointed to the chair in front of her.
Swallowing hard, he obeyed and sat down.
His grandmother stared at him for a few seconds, leaving him uneasy.
Then she took a deep breath and placed the box on the table.
Exhaling slowly, she opened it.
The candle flames around them flickered, nearly going out.
The scent of incense seemed to vanish for a moment.
Mike and the old woman didn't take their eyes off the box.
With her bony fingers, she calmly took out the deck, running a finger along its back.
Without hesitation, she began to shuffle with remarkable speed.
Lifting her head while still shuffling, she asked her grandson—who watched in awe—
"What do you seek from the cards?"
"Ah—!" he blurted, so mesmerized by the sound of the cards sliding together that he'd forgotten why he was there.
What… do I seek? he wondered.
After a moment, he lifted his gaze back to her.
"I want to know what the future holds for me."
The fortune teller raised a brow, never stopping her shuffle."A bit vague. But I'll make an exception."
At last, she stopped and placed the deck at the center of the table.
"Cut it three times."
Raising his left hand, slightly unsteady, Mike cut a portion of the deck and placed it to the left, then did it once more to the right.
Then she took one card from each pile, setting them in their place.
The old woman turned to the card on the left, lightly pulling it by the edge.
"Do you know what makes this deck different?"
she asked without turning it over.
"Huh? Different?"
Mike replied, confused.
She fixed her gaze on him.
"This deck can see as far as it wishes. Months? Years? You only find out when the vision ends."
His breath caught, his heart skipping a beat.
"Do you still want to continue?"
his grandmother asked, serious.
He swallowed hard once more, his gaze steady.
"I do."
The corners of her aged lips curled at his quick answer.
"Good. Each of these cards represents a point in your life, as I explained before.
Some may last for years, while others only a few days."
When she finished explaining, she turned the card.
The boy's eyes widened.
The Tower?
"The Tower."
the old woman echoed his thought, her expression neutral.
"Your structure will suffer a shock, leading to its collapse. After you endure it, you will become something new."
Mike just listened in silence, his pupils dilated, sweat beading on his forehead.
His throat felt dry, his stomach twisting.
The old woman paused briefly, then moved on to the next card anyway.
She ran her fingers along the edge of the card, then flipped it in one swift motion.
Her wrinkled brow furrowed for a moment.
"The Devil."
The boy's eyes widened.
His fingers trembled against his thigh beneath the table.
B-both of them…?
His grandmother watched him with a conflicted expression.
After closing her eyes for a moment, she let out a sigh.
"Your new self will be unstable, vulnerable. If you're not careful, you'll become susceptible to harmful influences… and habits."
"B-but—"
Mike stammered, a cold sweat breaking across his skin.
"Isn't there a way to avoid this?"
Shaking her head, the old woman let out a sigh.
"That's not how this deck works. It depends on how you choose to respond."
she explained, already bringing her bony hand toward the final card.
"However, the core of the card cannot be changed. The moment you saw them… they became your destiny."
"A-ah. I understand."
he murmured, head lowered.
Then the fortune teller turned the final card.
A hooded skeleton stood beneath a withered tree.
In its skeletal hands, a large scythe.
The sky was dark, the land in ruin.
"Death."
His breath caught once more.
"It doesn't necessarily mean your death,"
she reassured him.
"Death can also mark the end of a cycle—when you begin again from nothing."
"After everything, you'll be able to rebuild your structure from the ground up."
He let out a breath, slightly more at ease.
But his brow still furrowed.
Even so… it doesn't really help.
Seeing how downcast he was, the old woman gathered the cards,quickly sealing them back inside the box.
A moment later, she rose from her chair and walked toward him.
"Remember—Destiny is unchangeable. But the paths that lead to it are infinite."
"Be strong."
His eyes watered as he nodded to his grandmother.
She gave a small smile, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Come, I'll get a room ready for you. Going out in this storm would be madness."
"Okay."
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Author's Notes:
Sorry for the long delay. I've been dealing with some creative block recently.
With my college exams coming up, I might miss a few updates here and there.
Thanks for sticking around, and I appreciate your understanding.
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