Her long fingers caressed the crystal ball that laid in the palm of her porcelain hand. Face covered by the daunting hood, her opaque eyes carefully watched the ball pass between the long sleeves of her cloak from hand to hand as the mist clouded the eyes of the man in front of her.
A king. A queen. A peddler. A warrior. A peasant. A slave. Which has not visited her before? Her words of sweet honey laced with poison. A sweet yearning for a first love buried in the past, a delicate rose encased with thorns, a beautiful dream filled with warnings. Her eyes see all yet shows nothing, a thin veil between each path. Like moths they flock to the flames, bright, a never dying light filled with the knowledge mortals wish for so desperately.
Heroes come filled with joy and hope for the future to return with a bright but dark future stained with glory, greed and a bloodbath to wash the stains away. Kings come to seek wisdom for the future to return with the wisdom accumulated by the old and diseased, a burden of a thousand lives that lives under the heavens. However not all that come seek such life changing knowledge. Farmers that seek a change in fate for their seeds, wives seek methods to sow those seeds, children that seek the comforts of a family and a glorious future a meaning to their sorrow. Each that requests for knowledge return with sweet words laced with the poison fitting for the price of prying through the akashic records. Some seek the future, some seek the past. Each leaves with a satin of white tying them to fate. Fate can never change. Fate opposes all hopes that mortals sow. Fools that seek to change fate have always been crushed. There is no fate. Only the whims of fate herself.
'Well?' the man asked when her eyes flickered open again. Her ruby lips curved up and when they opened a piercing voice was heard,'Your heir will be the third child: brave, fearless and strong she will rise against those that oppose her.' The man was quiet- unlike the eagerness when he first arrived. His eyes flared as he gave his gratitudes. Each step taken as he exited stretched his shadow. Her eyes peered into it as in her eyes they shifted, fate carving his final path to the grave. She saw the many bodies pile from the sole of his shoes to overflowing riches and at last the shape of a strong mortal,sitting on the throne, her hair flowing brandishing a sword at his neck. When his figure was engulfed by the blinding white light she continued to play with the ball. If one had turned around when they left as they peered into her shadows. One would see the beating heart dripping with blood as the stains of white tightened around it, suspended it from the ground and speared into the back of her.