The Fortune Teller
Under the dim glow of flickering candles, Madame Celeste’s parlour exuded mystery. Velvet curtains draped every wall, and the scent of incense hung thick in the air. Clients came to her with trembling hands and desperate hopes, believing in her uncanny ability to predict their futures. Her predictions always came true. After all, she didn’t guess—she knew.
Celeste was no ordinary fortune teller. A rogue Time Keeper, she used her watch to jump into her clients’ futures, observing the events she would later claim to foresee. Her precision earned her fame and fortune, but it also caught the attention of other Time Keepers. What she didn’t know was that her next client would bring her schemes crashing down.
The door creaked open, and a tall man stepped inside. He wore a wide-brimmed hat that cast shadows over his face, his calm demeanor masking a sharp focus. "Madame Celeste," he said, his voice low and measured. "I seek answers that only you can provide."
Celeste gestured to the velvet chair across from her, her bangles jingling softly. "Come, sit. Let me peer into the threads of your destiny."
He sat, his watch concealed beneath his sleeve, and slid a coin across the table. Celeste picked it up with a practiced smile. "What troubles you, dear client?"
"There’s a meeting at the Red Lantern ballroom three nights from now,” he said, “a pivotal event that I must navigate. Tell me how it unfolds.""
Celeste’s eyes gleamed. She took his hand, theatrically closing her eyes as if summoning otherworldly visions. After a moment, she released it and said, "The threads of fate require deep focus. Please wait here while I converse with the spirits."
Excusing herself, she slipped into a back room filled with ornate trinkets and mismatched furniture. There, she twisted the dial on her watch, disappearing into the future in a faint shimmer of light. She appeared at the Red Lantern ballroom at the designated time, her form shimmering into place behind a pillar. As she scanned the room, her eyes landed on the man in the wide-brimmed hat, standing in the center of the ballroom, his watch glowing faintly. He turned to her immediately, his gaze sharp. "Madame Celeste," he said, his calm voice cutting through the air. "We’ve been expecting you." Her attempt to retreat failed—the man and a group of other Time Keepers stepped forward, blocking her escape. "Caught in the act," he said with a smirk, his watch glowing brighter as he synchronized the timestream to lock her in place. Celeste froze, realizing too late that she had walked into a trap.
She backed away, but there was nowhere to run.
"You used your gift for profit," the man said. "You’ve compromised the timestream for personal gain. This ends now."
Before she could react, the man stepped forward and confiscated her watch with a swift motion, deactivating it with a flick of his hand. The glow faded instantly, leaving her powerless. The consequences of her tampering reverberated through her body, and she crumpled to her knees. The other Time Keepers stepped forward, their faces resolute.
"The timeline will heal," one of them said, "but your role in it ends here."
As they escorted her out of the ballroom and into the timestream’s custody, Madame Celeste’s legacy as the infallible fortune teller dissolved into whispers of caution—an example of what happens when power is misused.
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