The Fortune Teller

“I don’t like it here, My Raven. It’s creepy,” her frightened voice echoed through the quiet night as they slowly walked deeper into the darkened forest.

“Little One, you want to find your fox, and everyone said they saw him scamper into the woods,” he replied in a calm voice.

“Charlie!” her usually quiet voice screamed as she plodded deeper into the dark with her trembling hand inside of his.

The leaves rustled as a familiar and furry shape raced towards them both, kicking up the brown and dead leaves from the frosty winter. The pup energetically jumped into her arms, excitingly licking her.

A smile spread across her face as relief ran through her before she spoke, “Let’s go home.”

His midnight eyes looked around anxiously as he muttered under his breath, “Which way is home?”

The wind howled ferociously as her knee struck something hard. A rock, she pondered, as he hoisted her to her feet. The thick and hot liquid ran to her black boots as she winced. “Damn rocks,” she exclaimed, with all the fury of a frustrated and exhausted child.

“Excuse me, Miss. Are you okay?” spoke a middle-aged woman beside of her. Dressed in a plain dress of a forgotten time as her hands clutched the cover of a deteriorating and worn Bible.

“I’m fine,” she replied quickly before realizing that her companion’s hand was no longer holding hers.

“Are you looking for your handsome love?” the woman’s weathered voice inquired. “It looked like he was searching for a way out of this forest, and he graciously accepted my invitation for tea,” she exclaimed. “Now, come with me and we will get you all nice and warm,” she crooned.

“Where is My Raven?” she replied, forcing more bravery into her voice than she currently felt.

The woman folded her delicate hand into her hand, an appendage that was merely covered with wrinkled parchment as a token of time’s passage.

Reluctantly, she walked beside her as her heart thudded its own unescapable rhythm. Her loving Raven would not simply leave her in the cold for a cup of tea, she thought, as she robotically followed the older woman through the dark.

A wooden house appeared beyond the trees as Isabella’s eyes struggled to focus on the defined shape. It was a modest shack, composed only of rotted and weather-stained boards. She shivered as the leather soles of her shoes tapped along the unusual and ornate tiled floor. Even amid her terror, she tried to surmise why expensive tile was used on this poor excuse for an abode.

“Judgmental, aren't we, Little Miss,” sarcastically stated the woman as she poured some hot liquid into a tin cup. “I know your type. If everything isn’t pristine and proper, you throw an arrogant fit. For the last time, you are not a Princess!”

Her normal temper would have rattled by now, poking its head from her thinly manufactured veil of propriety and politeness, but the terror that coursed through her body left her unable to defend herself in her usual manner.

“Now, sit down and let old Tabatha pour you some tea,” her hosted stated in a voice drenched in impatience.

Isabella reluctantly took her seat as she lovingly cradled her foxy pup in her arms for comfort.

“I know something about you, Little Lady,” stated the woman in a matter-of-fact tone before continuing, “You would give up all your luxury to live in this very shack with him forever. Those black eyes entrance you.”

Isabella gulped a mouthful of the hot liquid as she angrily screeched, “What do you know about it!”

“Ha! There is that temper that you always know is there,” responded the woman triumphantly as the sound of the tea made a familiar chime as it hit the bottom of the cup.

To be continued…