It's All In The Cards

It's all there in the cards.



Tarot cards, a blur of color and intricacies, falling into place with an almost hypnotic rhythm in the hands of the shuffler. They make a soft snick as their edges strike the table, jumbling together and falling apart at the same time.



She flourishes the first one, setting it face down on the table with an almost loving air. And surely, she must love them - she is a prophet. The cards are her family. Her life. She arranges them in the traditional five card pattern, and turns over the middle one.



A two of swords. The expression of the blindfolded woman is difficult to read. But it looks pained.



The prophet explains that this card, the present, is a symbol of a temporary compromise. The calm before the storm, she says, and jabs the card with her finger as she flashes a toothless grin.



The second card is to the left. The past influences. Seven of pentacles. There is tension in the room when the prophet says that it shows a lack of control. She's hit a nerve, unknowingly. Good. She always does. The cards never lie.



Then the future, to the right. It's the one they've been waiting for.



It's Death. Gaping eye sockets stare up at them. It was once contained in Pandora's box. Even now it wants to be let out.



Someone gives an angry exclamation. But she says that it's a sign of change - it's not really death. At least, she doesn't think so.



The fourth card.



The prophet tenses as she turns it over.



It's the Devil.



It's an enemy, she says with great trepidation. Whether internal or not, she doesn't know. She has never seen two such cards like that in one reading. The Devil is not the most dangerous card, but it is the sort of enemy who will go to any lengths to win. To hurt and crush and utterly destroy.



The last card now. Everyone holds their breath. This one, it's the potential for the situation.



When the prophet turns it over, she draws back her hand with a quick gasp as if it has suddenly become blazing hot to the touch.



It's Death. Again. And there should be only one such card in the entire deck.

But yet, there's no mistaking it. Death is the immediate future. It's the only potential. Two Reapers look blankly up at them, two skeletal grins wide and mocking. Let us out, they seem to whisper. It's fate. It's all in the cards.