Page 15 of Breaking the Dark

“I was young once,” says Ophelia. “I was young for a very long time. The only thing that matters is love. Everything else is nonsense. Just enjoy your youth.”

The girl frowns. “But I can’t. I can’t enjoy my youth. I want more.”

Ophelia sighs, but on some level she understands the girl’s frustration.

“I just need to know that there will be more for me than this. Can you just guide me? Please.”

Ophelia picks up a pile of tarot cards and holds them gently for a moment before passing them to the girl. “Here,” she says. “Ask them your questions.”

The girl’s well-manicured hands take the cards and shuffle them slowly. But as she shuffles, the girl’s gaze goes to Ophelia, who is staring at her whilst humming something under her breath.

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Older than I look.”

“You look about forty.”

“I’m much older than that.”

“How much older?”

“Just…much older.”

“What skin cream do you use?” the girl asks.

Ophelia taps a fingernail against the top of the deck of tarot cards. “Please try and concentrate.”

The girl takes her eyes from Ophelia’s skin and focuses on the deck of cards again. But she keeps looking up, distractedly.

“Your hair,” she says. “It’s so shiny. What products do you use?”

Ophelia sighs. “Homemade.”

Her eyes widen. “You make your own products?”

“I do, yes.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.” The girl is suddenly very animated. “What sort of ingredients do you use?”

“Oh, nothing special. Just natural stuff. Anyway…”

The girl’s eyes are wide and glittering, and Ophelia feels a wave of dread pass through her.

She wants this girl to go now.

“You know,” says the girl, “I really think that maybe this could be kismet.”

Ophelia takes the deck of cards from her hands and slides them back into their box. “I think maybe it’s better if you come back another day. When your mind is more focused.”

“But my mind is focused. It’s so focused.”

“I meant on your future.”

“But this is my future. I’ve seen it. You’re my future.”

This girl has something about her, something that stirs the long-dead parts of Ophelia’s psyche. “I’m nobody’s future. You don’t even understand the meaning of the word.”

The girl casts her gaze around the grubby kiosk, the shabby velvet hangings, the splintered, peeling clapboard. “Don’t you want more than this, Madame Ophelia?”