Novel & Cerita What Do Palm Readers Tell You

I say with a small smile, the dissapointment long forgotten. "I am a. . ." She pauses and I glance at her, she looks genuiely confused "I am a woman, trying to get through the next days I guess, I do work in a Cafe, back at home, and I offer palm readings." "Come on." I laugh, not believing her, but she keeps a straight face which makes me laugh harder. "You don't believe me? Give me your palm." She says, and there's a twinkle in her eyes, like there's something I don't know.

Anna smiles sadly at me before saying, “And funnily enough, they’re the ones that ultimately kill us. Sadness does terrible things to the soul. It can be deadlier than any illness. I see a lot of sadness in you. I saw it in your hand, too.” “My hand?” I ask. “You read palms?” “I used to work as a fortune teller back in the day,” she informs me. “It was back when people actually cared about what would happen in the future. But these days, nobody believes in the magic of fortune telling anymore.” “I never thought about it,” I tell her. “What does my palm say?” She tilts her hand and places hers strategically under mine. “Like I said, I see a lot of sadness in your hand, but there’s a lot of tr

she muttered. “There’s more from where that came from.” "I think I have a few more minutes to spare," she said with a crooked smile. I took a seat before the old woman. "I can read your palm to tell you how many children you'll have, or perhaps you'd like to know where you'll meet the love of your life?" “No. I want to know about my… future.” Would I ever leave the castle, is there really some great destiny awaiting me?

"What do you mean?" "To predict the future, the wizards or the witches read the stars movement by using that tool. Although, the accuracy was about ninety percents, I don't believe that. To thought that our fate was written in the stars, makes me feel insulted." Cecilia nodded. Just like in her past, shaman and fortune-tellers are considered as con artist. But there are always a handful people who believe them. Ji Eun never trust the zodiac or any other crap about clairvoyance.

I ask her and she smiles, " She can read people’s futures with just a simple card pick." I suppress a scoff. Do things like this still exist in this modern time and age? I don’t believe in things like that. Fortune-telling? It sounds absurd. My dad had wasted enough money on such things in the hope of making life better for himself despite my warnings for him not to do so. They all end up deceiving people with little things that they have managed to investigate about the person.

They took their turns sitting across from the fortune teller, who examined their palms, studied the lines of fate, and gazed into a crystal ball. "Ella," the fortune teller began, "you have a heart torn between two worlds, yet destined for a love that defies boundaries." Ella blushed, finding the prediction surprisingly accurate. Yvette giggled, nudging Nathan with her elbow, while he maintained a good-natured smile. "Nathan," the fortune teller continued, "you carry the weight of responsibility on your shoulders, but love will be your guiding light." Yvette, ever the playful sister, chimed in, "Looks like you're the knight in shining armor, Nathan."

"Now, close your eyes." We followed the fortuneteller's orders again. We closed our eyes for about a minute before she said that we could remove now our palms from the crystal ball. "Have you seen anything about the men we will love?" Cindy asked excitedly. It seems she can't wait to find out if there's a man who will be destined to be with her. "Yes. But it will not be easy for you to achieve happiness with the man you love. And death is inevitable. So if you want to be happy with the men you love, be careful with the decisions you make will do," the fortune teller answered Cindy with a serious face.

Aware. Tarot readers, I know, are rarely ordinary. Most are born of the witch line—keepers of a quieter knowledge. They do not alter destiny; no force dares challenge the laws of nature. But they *listen*—to its rhythm, its frequency, the silent language beneath events. They read what others cannot hear. And standing here— I feel heard. Before I have spoken a word. “You have returned to the path,” she says. Not *arrived*. Returned? My breath falters.