He held his hand out for the
fortuneteller, and she immediately took it in her own, unfurling it on her
small table. Stars glimmered in Madame Josephina’s eyes as she looked down at
his palm. The black ink written out on his hand read: They are coming. Madame Josephine’s suddenly took on a grave and
sober look as she lifted her head back to the young man’s face. Yes, she saw
the resemblance now.
“You are his son?” she asked,
though she already knew the answer. He solemnly nodded his head.
“My brother was a great man once, but lately it has been
difficult to remember why. I am sorry that we had to meet this way, but even
more so, I am sorry for what I am about to do.” And with that, Madame Josephine
pulled a glass phial from her cloak, lifted off the cork lid, and let its
strong, acrid scent swim through the air. As his nose caught whiff of it, his
eyes began to roll back in his head, and he slumped to the floor. A single tear
ran down Madame Josephine’s face as she pulled her hood over her head, gathered
a small bundle from the back of her shop, hung a closed sign over the door, and left, knowing full well she
would not ever return to her quaint, little shop.
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