"The stars know our destinies, each action we can and will take branching out like the limbs on the eternal tree of life. But just because the stars can show us the path doesn't mean it will stay the same. Destiny shifts like the tide, always in a state of constant flux, so take my words and know that what becomes of them is up to you."

Over the years, Gram has lost count of how many times he has said this to any number of the people who walk into his shop. What he will never forget, however, is how without fail the words pull out a look of skepticism from his patrons. It is by far his favorite part. His second being the look of disbelief when his divinations come true, followed by the rather large amount of coin thrown his way to do it all again. He'll never turn his nose up to a well paying customer, unless it's silver.

The room is illuminated sparsely by the candles littered about, sitting on shelves that hold oddities and niknaks, things that Gram not necessarily cares for but adds to the ambiance of a fortune teller's den. Shadows dance across the cards strewn on the table; Moon, Sun, Strength, Hermit, Lovers. The cards, like everything else in the room, are just for show. There are some that claim they can get premonitions through the cards, Gram isn't one to argue, maybe they are true or atleast close enough to true. But getting premonitions from the source is more practical.

"Would you still like to proceed?" Gram's eyes quirk mischievously, the sharpness of them intimidating yet enticing.

His current patron: simple, average- looking, unassuming and unremarkable, probably wanting fame and fortune, praying for lovers and cursing scorners, simply nods their head. As Gram traces his fingertips across the cards his other hand sits in his lap, under the table. The hidden hand's fingers trace a pattern into his thigh until it begins to glow underneath the fabric. Gram's eyes, before closed in a faux concentration, open now with a luminescent glow, his pupil and iris washed away by light. The patron makes an audible gasp, and at random Gram picks up the lover's card.

In his vision of white fantastical light, branches of possibilities grow and spread from a single point. Some of the visions are blurry, these tend to be the ones of least probability but still entirely possible, others are not exactly crystal clear but easy enough to read. He has never seen a crystal clear divination, it's been said that visions always look hazy because the future isn't set in stone. Everything he is seeing is rather lackluster, sadly for this patron his future is about as dull as his personality. He picks out a few possibilities out of the handful he is shown and is about to end his divination when his own branching path of possibilities pops up.

A divination has never presented itself without being seeked out. Gram doesn't see a handful of things but only three branches; a dead deer, a bloody child, and a wagon on fire. Everything was so terribly clear it was like he was already living out these events. It is enough that he loses his focus and his divination fades along with the luminescence from his eyes and body as he returns to this plane of existence. There is silence as he looks at the patron and the patron looks at him. It feels like he's swallowed a handful of daggers.

"Ah…Lovers," he begins, wetting his throat, "it has shown me some…interesting things. A new companion from an unlikely place, whether that's a blessing or a curse it's for you to decide. And with it comes sacrifice but on which end I cannot say…" Gram sets the card down. " except that it is also for you to decide."

"Whatever your choice is, it seems this new companion is at the center of it, many branches of possibilities stem from them, this is not to say they are your entire future but that they are new and with all new things new ways to traverse life come forth. A word of caution isn't warranted but do tread with mindfulness."

The patrons' features brighten up, as if hearing something wanted or insightful, and leans in closer which causes Gram to lean back in his seat.

"Can you tell me what they look like? So I can be sure it is who I think it is?"

"The image was as clear as looking at yourself in murky water. I can see that it is a person of human origin, but I cannot tell anything else."

The other grumbles and reaches into his pockets to procure a silver piece. He throws it on the table with a pointed look.

"Does this change your mind?"

Gram sneers at the silver piece and uses one of the cards to push it away.

"I'm sorry but it doesn't quite work that way. What is seen is seen.”

The patron huffs and stands to pocket the silver. He turns to walk out of the shop but not without muttering an elvish slur under his breath. Maybe he was hoping to get a rise out of Gram but just because he was an elf doesn’t mean his pride gets the best of him… most of the time. The slur however does make his jaw clench a fraction as the man leaves his shop.

Gram rifles through the prior payment he received from the man that sits in a glass bowl on the table. Two gold pieces short.

“Son of a bitch,” he groans. He should’ve known an out of towner would skimp on payment. Now he feels better about not telling him about a possible danger in his future. It was nothing serious from what he could tell, a mugging perhaps. Gram did have a bad habit of keeping the juicer divinations to himself.

It was at this point he deemed it late enough to close for the night, in about two hours till midnight. The ominous vision from earlier still sits at the edge of his memory, and he dwells on its meaning as he gathers the tarot deck and mindlessly shuffles. He stands to set them on one of the shelves behind him, his hand lingering on the top card.

He flips it over.

The Fool stares back at him, upright. New beginnings…innocence.

He flips over one more.

These cards were full of shit, yet despite feeling that way, Gram sets them down rather hastily upon the shelf. He whips around and starts blowing out candles in a haste, before setting things in order like collecting the rest of today's wages and storing it in the satchel that sits at his side.After everything looked presentable at best, Gram grabbed his cloak from where it hung by the door and draped himself in the darkness of it. Resisting the urge to look back at the deck of cards he rushes out the door, but can still see the last card in his mind's eye.

The upright Queen of Cups symbolizing sacrifice.