"Marveno, you're going too far!" a commanding voice originated from a mask-wearing silhouette. Its syllables were jagged, demanding and aggressive.

"Patience," the forsaken woman bowed slightly. A stripe of light covered half her face, accredited to the shape of the lamp hanging at the center of her workroom. "Every step undertaken by me is a root that feeds the tree of fate. How can I not perform what has been expected of me by my own destiny?"

"Silence!" the figure dressed in onyx spoke from a corner, shielded by a wall to not let the woman's eyes touch him. "All you converse about is 'fate this, fortune that'. You attract visitors and grant them access to glimpse at their future, unaware about the price they bear. Is that truly ethical a deed of you to do?"

Marveno's experienced eyes squinted at the wall. Her sense of respect for the person flinched.

"What I do is none of your concern, Tabléyét," Lady Marveno took a step forward. The wood from the floor groveled under pressure. "As a bounty hunter, you reserve no right to object to anything I do. Instead, you have the duty to accomplish whatever errand I entrust you on. Is that clear?"

"Clear my name!" the ominous figure finally revealed himself under the light. A broad-shouldered being of a race undisclosed, dressed in colors of the darkest midnight sky. His gloved hands bore the hilt of a unique weapon resembling an ornate torch sconce. "How dare you use my own name? Should I teach that tongue of yours a lesson it never learnt?"

"I believe you are the one who's not disciplined, foul half-elf," the middle-aged elf raised her voice. For a heartbeat, she could feel the heat of her anger burn through the heavy cloaks worn by the mercenary. Her agile ears picked up a scent of footsteps drawing close. "We shall debate about this matter on the morrow. For now, make yourself scarce."

"I..." Tabléyét shut his hidden mouth before his tongue could argue. Understanding the necessity for him to hide as fast as possible, he scurried off back into the corner. "You will answer for your disobedience, Marveno. You will regret your audacity."

He melted into the shadows.

Sighing with a feeling halfway tipped towards relief, she turned around to greet the incoming guests.

Three elves lifted the drapes guarding her room and merrily entered, two of which were familiar. Behind them, an outsider joined.

"Lady Marveno! At last, we meet again!" S'Awira knelt down to touch the fortune teller's toes. She brought her hand to her forehead before promptly rubbing it against her heart. She rose back to her feet, with her eyes gleaming with news. "You were right, ma'am! You were correct about your predictions. Oh Lady Marveno, my dear L'Esson has been afflicted by the curse of forgetfulness!"

Even for someone like Marveno, whose mind was populated with cobwebs of knowledge, she was slightly surprised at the appearance and actions of the young elf.

"Ah... Miss Awira, I see..." she ran her fingers through the elf's neatly combed hair. Perfume made from seven types of rare roses slithered onto her skin. "You've certainly grown even more beautiful over the last two moons!"

"Oh, Madam Marveno, you flatter me!" she giggled.

Marveno swapped her visual focus to L'Esson.

"And Esson, too. You remind me of my own son who married an elf as elegant as your bride. Though, I must say, even S'Awira may outmatch hers," she realized there were more participants behind the vignette of her regular clients. "And what's this? You brought me more visitors? How generous! Come in, come in!"

Farmer E'Norm and his newly adopted 'son' Anothor quietly stepped into the foreground, courteously having their hands pre-knotted behind their backs.

"My apologies for not noticing your presence, Mister Norm," she bestowed a badge of respect to Anothor's stepfather via her words. "Hope your harvests are successful this season. I'm afraid you had to wrestle with intruders and crows in order to uphold the lining of success,” she transparently read their fate from their faces. “And who's this... gentleman beside you? He doesn't seem like an elf, by my wisdom."

"Him?" the farmer grabbed the writer by the shoulder. "Well, Sister Marveno, he's the fruit ye promised this year! How honest and true your words are! Am baffled by the fortune, Marveno. I greatly am!"

"Oh, did I?" she couldn't recall any promises foretelling about his 'fruit'. Relying on her backup logic - the science of deduction - she inferred that the new person was his 'son'. Feeling safe about her rapid conclusion, she continued. "Ah, yes! I did. Your new son, I see."

The writer gulped as Marveno approached him.

"A handsome one, too," she held up his chin to make his eyes meet hers. She probed over every visible detail on his face. "A hume creature? Hmm-hmm... Interesting. Your past is blurry, your future is undefined. But your present holds up a placard of potential. I sense bravery.. chivalry..." she let go of her firm grip on his face before stepping back. "If my daughter was in town, I'd have requested you to bond with her."

L'Esson and S'Awira listened to the soothsayer's appraisal of the newcomer. Meanwhile, his father's chest swelled with pride and gratefulness to the deities he believed in.

"Now, now, my dears," she turned her back towards them. "Please enter and have a seat. I believe our night will outrun the day if we don't make haste about discussing your problems."

*****

Bliss condensed among the swarm of steam happily climbing out from cups of enamel-skinned porcelain. The tea cradled within ushered an avalanche of nostalgia for Anothor and an idyllic touch for everyone else to feel the massage of comfort. Platters of fine bread, castles of dough snacks and an army of fruits had been summoned atop the table. A table round like the sun and veiled by fabric far permeable than silk but also stronger than polyester.

Sunlight changed its hue with every passing unit of time as dusk played a snare drum to notify the timezone about its arrival.

Anothor took another sip.

The hexagonal chamber of Lady Marveno was built out of a metallic stone tamed by volcanoes and schooled by the best of blacksmiths in the nation. Though she seldom stayed there. For one fact, it wasn't her actual residence.

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Her guests helped themselves on the splurge snacks while she mentally formulated possible pathways to tackle any questions they would propose.

S'Awira put her cup down and headed out to the balcony parallel to the dining section. If there was one thing she adored more than her husband, L'Esson, it would be the nightly stars that peeked out from the pockets in the sky.

The drapes partitioning every section of the building were magically enchanted to hold back sound. Atleast until the landlady herself willed for them to let any sounds through.

"Madam Marveno," L'Esson swallowed a grape followed by a drought of water in a goblet adorned with amethysts. While his spouse was away and possibly deaf to the conversations indoors, he decided it was a wise opportunity to discuss directly with the Lady of Fate herself. "I have my utmost respects for you. But please... I beg your pardon and your mercy upon me," he clapped his hands together. "S'Awira believes my mind is under the effects of some illness. But I'm afraid, that's not the case, as it should be apparent already! Please explain to her that I'm perfectly fine. It hurts my eyes and my soul to see her desperately wanting to cure a disease that isn't present in my body in the first place. Oh Lady Marveno, is there not something you can suggest?"

Petting his pitch like a domestic cat in her mind, Marveno silently communed with herself for a moment.

Anothor and his father busily chewed and munched upon the delicacies sponsored by her. They both were in the background of the other elves' affairs, so they kept it that way. If there was any emotion they felt, it was shame - for tailing two civilians and intruding on their host without an invitation.

'It's been a while since I've tasted food THIS GOOD!' the writer screamed with delight in the halls of his mental space. 'Ah, I still cannot believe whatever the hell is happening with me. Where am I? Which country is this? More importantly... what happened to me? I haven't seen myself in any mirrors ever since I landed here,' he tried to extract his reflection from the surface of the tea but the lighting made it difficult for him to make out anything other than his bodily outline. 'Need to find a reflective surface... fast. I wonder if I'm in my own body or not. As far as my arms and physique is concerned, they seem... more fit. Well, someone like me could never judge physical qualities anyways.... ugh...' he released a soft burp, quieter than the sound of knives, spoons and forks dancing to the melodies of their handlers' eating preferences. 'I wonder what sort of house I'll be staying in. For once, I kind of feel displeased with myself for not being able to live with that cutie elf. If I indeed was in control of her husband’s body, I would’ve cried to stay like that for longer. Ah, no one would've ever known. Nor suspected anything wrong. It'd have been as if I was always L'Esson since birth! Heh...' a mischievous grin ate his next bite of cake. 'Whoever I am, I think I may possess some supernatural skills and abilities. I just need to learn how to harness ownership over them. Correctly. Safely,' he wiped a smear of chocolate off his lips. 'Secretly.'

"Yes, my dear," Marveno replied with a smile colored by assurance. "I'm sorry if Awira had been unnecessarily troubling both your heart and mind. Based on your claim, I think she has misunderstood the prophecy I had presented to her, last time. Fear not, Esson. Let her enjoy her karaoke with the stars. Once she returns, I shall correct her wrongs."

A trivial thought dashed in front of Anothor's daydreaming eyes. He took the bait and immediately asked the fortune teller.

"Excuse me, madam."

"Yes, my dear?"

"About your daughter. She's currently not in town, you informed," unsure whether to continue to the next part, the writer proceeded blindly. "So I would like to inquire about her whereabouts. Where is she? If you wouldn't mind."

At his word, Marveno slammed her hands on the arms of the chair she was reclining on. Supported by her arms, she stood up, scrutinizing him where he sat.

"Tell me, my dear. Do you really want to know?"

Inferring by the challenging tone of the elf woman, Anothor fidgeted in his mind. Locked in a fluctuating coin flip of whether to answer "yes" or "no". Even though Marveno didn't explicitly scold him, perspiration of stress dabbled in the form of sweat down a side of his forehead.

"Y-yes, please."

Lady Marveno leaned forward, closer to his face.

"If I state that information, would you promise to bring her back as well?"

'Crap. I didn't see that coming!' Anothor looked at his father for comfort or support, but the old farmer shared the same mute expression of a statue with L'Esson. After all, he wasn't his real father. Hardly even a known stranger. 'Hmm... why would she ask such a thing? I wonder.'

"You have thirty seconds before S'Awira re-enters the room. Make haste and decide fast, human. I'll be leaving for a distant island to the west of here. It won't be till next year that we cross paths again."

'Something's definitely not right. She isn't addressing me as 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳 anymore, either. Should I really risk it? What if her daughter's in some faraway fabled land, or captured by some rival prince or even taken hostage by bandits?' his mind only fetched the worst of possibilities. 'Those nasty birds back at the farm were already a menace too hard on my health. I own no money or equipment necessary for undertaking any quests.'

"Twenty seconds."

'Maybe, just maybe. I should try my luck? After all, she's the lady of luck.'

"Fifteen seconds."

"Alright, I agree, Lady of Luck," he stood up. "Please tell me where your daughter is."

"Firstly," she retracted her face back. "I'm the Lady of Fate, not Luck. Secondly," she impatiently shoved all the utensils off the table in a single wipe. Her eyes and hairs began glowing with purple flames tipped with insanity. "My daughter is... DEAD!" she lifted a slightly crooked finger at Anothor. "But not for long. YOU... will bring her back, you promised. So be gone at once!"

"Sister Marveno, what is the meaning of THIS?" the farmer snapped in disgust. "Have ye gone crazy? Come back to your senses! Goodness be limed, what sort of banshee suddenly— Aaaah!"

A blast of a spell unknown to Anothor materialized in a sphere. No. The ball of energy was draining the farmer's body dry of its mana – the secondary essence of life empowering elven souls and fueling magic. Wrinkles of pain crackled upon E'Norm's face. His entire body began contracting like a timelapse footage of a grape turning into a raisin.

"Lady Marveno! STOP!" L'Esson ignored the shock snaking into his opinion of the fortune teller. Acting fast, he casted a spell to conjure a dagger before attempting to implant it into Marveno's neck. "This is too far, ma'am. I can't believe my eyes! What are you doing?!"

"L... LA... LADY MARVENO!" S'Awira's scream bounced off the adjacent walls. She hurried into the room, stuck in her tracks. "L'ESSON! NO!!!"

"Foolish girl, you should've stayed where you were," Marveno grabbed L'Esson's dagger with an iron grip. "Now you shall forever stay with the stars! Slain by the blade of your own lover!"

"NO!!!! NO!!!! NOOOOO!!!" L'Esson realized his mistake a bit too late.

"RUN, S'AWIRA! RUN!!!" Anothor himself tried to warn her. He dived forward to help her dodge the villainously sabotaged attack.

Her eye pupils captured the final moments of her innocent life, mere flickers of a moth's wing before a kiss of death. Her mounds of trust. Her dreams. She realized now how fragile they were compared to her own existence. Standing there, speechless, she hardly had enough time to shed a teardrop.

Warping her face for the impact, she closed her eyes and prepared for the worst.

Anothor watched in horror as his own last attempts to save the angelic elf were about to crash into the ground in vain.

The polished floors beneath S'Awira's feet braced for blood to shower upon them.