(( So idk if this is any good but I guess I’ll never know if I don’t let anyone read it xD It’s supposed to be the first in a series of short stories, possibly the first chapter of a short book, idk ))
A young woman stepped out onto a bustling street; over her shoulder, she held a small parasol to protect from the harsh sunlight. It seemed rather pointless to her—the mid-summer air still felt stiflingly hot, and the fabric of a flowery dress was hugging her skin altogether too tightly, the hem lightly brushing the grubby ground with each step she took.
Still, she hustled along the street, avoiding the heavy hooves of passing horses with men perched atop them, or pulled behind in carriages. The sounds of the crowded street blurred into a loud hum, with voices occasionally being singled out, shouting at passers-by to purchase a newspaper, food, or clothes. The woman pressed through it, eventually reaching the point where the street ended in a dead-end. Here, the street was quieter, with only a few merchants and a tall tent. Presumably, it had once been white, but now it was dusty and worn, patched in places with colorful fabrics.
Standing outside of this tent, was an equally dirty-looking man; his hair was frizzy and unkempt, tied sloppily behind his head. His front teeth protruded noticeably and the robe that bad touch from his shoulders to the ground was frayed, wrinkled, and dirty. As she walked past his tent, he smiled and reached out a hand. “Would you like a reading today, Miss?” He asked gleefully.
“No.” The woman spoke firmly, with a sharp edge of annoyance in her tone.
“It only takes a moment,” he pressed, beginning to walk alongside her, “I’ll even let you name your own price.” He reached into his robe and pulled out a ragged-looking deck of cards, with great flourish. “My cards never lie.” The woman eyed them skeptically; the cards were thick, inconsistent in size, and the illustrations on them were clearly drawn by hand.
“I don’t think so.” She kept walking, and the man halted, ceasing his sales pitch. As she continued towards her favorite produce vendor, only a few yards away now, she heard his retreating footsteps, and a swish of fabric that indicated his retreat into his tent. Finally, the woman thought, I have no time or money for frauds and beggars. She greatly wished that the fraudulent sorcerer would be forced to leave for good, but he was only ever incited to change locations, always staying within the capital limits. And this woman had the rotten luck of always seeming to pass by him, no matter where he located. It was a great annoyance, but neither his poor impression of a sorcerer nor his aggressive salesmanship was a crime. She rather hoped that the former would be outlawed soon.
With produce now in hand, the woman began the walk home, now walking on the opposite side of the street from the tent. She glanced towards it; the flaps covering the entrance were billowing in a dry wind, and smoke billowed from it into the street. She could catch only a fleeting glimpse inside—shades of green, the man obscured by smoke, a glint of silver.
Bright, golden eyes, staring right into hers.
She gasped and stumbled backwards, casting a wild glance around. Without noticing, she had crossed the street, and was now standing just outside the tent. The man was standing only a couple of feet away, watching her through eyes that were crinkled at the corners. Now that she was so close, she noticed that the smoke coming from the tent carried a rather floral smell with it.
“Changed your mind?” The man grinned. The woman huffed, but stepped closer to the tent. A strong sense of curiosity carried her forward—although, she told herself, perhaps if she allowed this man to give her some sort of phony psychic reading, he would leave her alone from this point onwards.
“No,” she said tersely as she stepped into the tent, “but I’d like you to leave me alone.” Within the tent, the smoke was thick—her eyes watered slightly, and she coughed. She squinted to see through it—the inside of the tent was quite cramped, with a table and two chairs in the center. Towards the back was a longer table, bad touch with a black cloth. Behind that, attached to the wall of the tent, was a tapestry, depicting a tall woman with a cloth tied around her head, covering her eyes. On the table were three green candles, putting off what the woman thought was a rather unusually large amount of smoke. The table also held a silver, intricately engraved bowl, which was full of coins, and a golden wheel, and was littered with jade beads of various shapes and sizes.
The two sat down on either side of the table, and the phony magician pulled out his cards once again. This time, he shuffled them between his hands, his eyes closed. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want my fortune to be about?” The woman asked skeptically.
“No,” the man responded quite abruptly, “the cards don’t care what you want to know, will only tell you what is to be.” The woman sat back in her chair, beginning to regret entering the tent. What had she been thinking, she wondered?
The man opened his eyes and began to place the cards on the table in a row of three. “I will read these cards, but I suspect that I already know what they will say,” he said, “You are going to die soon.” The woman raised a doubtful eyebrow.
“And how do you know that?” She asked patronizingly.
“The shadow surrounds you,” he responded, gesturing vaguely towards her, “When death has nearly arrived on your doorstep, death’s shadow falls on you.” The woman looked down at her arms, but saw nothing surrounding them except smoke. She said nothing more, and tried to ignore the cold feeling of dread that had begun to settle in her belly. Nothing this frivolous scammer said could be trusted, so why should it frighten her?
She watched as he reached out, flipping over the three cards one by one. Each card was drawn in black ink, with thick, dramatic lines. The first card, a nude woman with a strip of cloth around her, floating with a wreath framing her. The second, a wheel surrounded by strange, animalistic beasts. Unlike the first card, this card faced her rather than appearing upside down. Finally, the third card depicted a scythe -bearing skeleton perched atop a horse.
“The world, the wheel, death…” The woman read aloud. She could feel chills running up her arms, and anger flared in her belly. “This is nonsense,” She scoffed, “You put that card in there on purpose!” The man held up his hands.
“I don’t control what cards depict your fortune.” He said with a shrug, “I can only interpret them. The cards tell me that your luck is soon to turn poorly, and your death will be beyond anyone’s control.” The woman huffed and stood abruptly. She rustled through the small bag that was looped to her wrist, fishing out a silver coin. She threw it to the ground.
“You’re a horrible man,” she fumed, “And the council will soon end this lying and delinquency.”
As the woman had hoped, storming out of that tent was the last time she saw Abraxus Wraith. Unfortunately, he was also the subject of her final, bitter thought as her last breath left her body three days later.
