It was dark.

Like every sensible non-morning person, my shutters were fully drawn to block the view. I pulled the cord and the silver moonlight flooded the room. It was so clear tonight, that it drowned out the dim lamp posts as if it was a giant spotlight.

With trembling hands, I shrugged off my pajamas. Changing into an outfit I liked to call a Night Stroll. A comfy hoodie with sufficiently large pockets, long baggy pants, and shoes which were softer than usual. Was I really going to do this?

It didn't take long for me to mutter a sarcastic yes. What other option did I have? I was running out of time, failing to meet minimal expectations. If I didn't try anything, my future would be ruined.

My hands shook at the thought. Something resembling anger surged through my spine. Spite. So much spite, causing aches all over my body. What infuriated me most was seeing all that I did, all that I've fought for and bled for. In the end? Pointless. Forced into vanity by the worst scum in the world.

The window was flung open as I stuck my head outside. Going outside at this time was illegal, according to the national curfew. The wind pushed my hair back as I stuck my head forward.

It was a long drop. Around 6 stories. It was going to be fun for once, no more worrying. I jumped to my hypothetical doom. Feet first, of course.

The sound of a violin climbing in pitch played in my head. Do, as the wind tugged at my clothes. Ray, as I felt myself falling quicker. Mi, as I heard the air scream past me. Fa, as I got dizzy from the momentum. On So, I took a step.

The ground pulsed as all that momentum dispersed on my step. The music came to an ear screeching stop and I nearly hurled from how terrible it felt. All that buildup, all that work, wasted. Red ran down the side of my mouth as I dragged my self over to a trash can and spat some bloody spittle. It tasted like corroded metal.

I was a great Prophet. What did that matter now, when I couldn't even finish such a simple prophecy? The backlash of being a false prophet hurt me in a way which felt crippling, as if I couldn't breath, as if I could barely see. Because what was once there was now gone. I hated my weakness.

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The pole of a street sign caught my stumbling form, my coughs dying down to a soft growl. There was time to bemoan my fate later, I had to make the most of this night. I set up this excursion in two months, I didn't have the time to spare to set up another large scale prophecy.

My slow steps were typical of any average person walking down the streets at such a late time. It was ill advised to attract attention, for crooks had the choice to rob you blind, or drag you away to do who knows what.

Somewhere, the sound of soft jazz played to the tune of a brisk walk. I looked back at the direction of the nearest bar, seeing that they were porting the recorded songs from this evening to the sound speakers.

Posh people with their entourages were riding several carriages in a row, trusting deeply in the propaganda that was being spread by the cults. Those who kept in line would be able to buy into fame and fortune, after all.

I stepped aside as their slaves carried around the luggage on pull carts. Heavier than anything I could bear with my frail body. I saw even the aged and young struggle in futility.

One child in particular would die if I simply let this continue, so once again I weaved a familiar prophecy.

"Child, abandoned,

Amidst the storm.

As the burden grows heavier,

day, by day.

You will find a tenacity,

Akin to mine.

And freedom will be granted,

To those who try escaping cataclysm."

This should be enough, and I knew for a fact that this prophecy was vague and personal enough, that no regular sanctioned prophet could draw a bead on the recipient. It even had a mysterious expiry date, due to the word child being implemented. At a certain age, and certain condition, they would not be protected anymore.

That's how prophecy should be in the first place. Guiding, not defining. My master would have reviled the current state of conduct, almost every fateweaver now possessed. By no means were most fateweavers even up to "par".

It wasn't long before I marched into the back region of the cemetery, where I knew there was a gap in the fence, and breaking in wouldn't alert the gravekeeper. My hammer was jammed between a set of bars, working hard in making a gap wide enough to squeeze through. The metal here was weaker than the rest of the fence, but I couldn't afford to snap it off. Didn't want to be traced after I hiked it out of here.

As the slight creak faded, my boots scruffed on the grass, the wind tumbling through the trees with a rustle. The moonlight shone through the clouds and landed on one particular grave.

"Here lies Hisphona Prahno." Poppies grew in rows upon rows.

Perfect.