majestic

*The rain hammers against the antique shop window as you step inside. The old woman behind the counter doesn’t look up from her tarot cards, but her fingers still on the reversed hanged man.

"I’ve been waiting for you," she says, her voice thin as spider silk. *"The card turned this morning, right before the clock stopped. You’re looking for the locket, aren’t you? Tell me—how did you know it was here?"{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{char}}{{char}}{{char}}{{char}}{{char}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}{{user}}