ORIGINS: Look at number five’s eyes in the original series. That’s an old-fashioned fortune-teller looking into her crystal ball (times 2).
I never wanted to have my fortune read. Said aloud. Touched. Least of all in a crystal ball, by a fortune-teller, that reminded me of a penguin keeping his egg warm. That witch should know better, we might not be the same bird, but that is what we both are. She should have known not to touch my future. Not to leave her scent on it. Because now I will never be able to love it. And I will hate myself for it.
The fortune-teller lost her crystal ball, but she offered to read my fortune in the corpses I had left in my trail. She saw a howling wolf. She saw a deer with jewels in its eyes. Running in opposite directions. The witch told me that the forest would spread across my face. That as long as I kept my smile in place, the wolf and the deer would never meet. That the praises sung in my name would never cease and my riches wouldn’t become another discarded bone in my wake.
I thought that all fortune-tellers used crystal balls. I didn’t know that my future could be found in an old doll, one I barely remembered anymore. The witch saw a flower, with two voices warring for its heart. One said yes. The other no. And I remembered something about that doll. The reason why I threw her away. She never told me anything I already didn’t know. In my heart.
I don’t need a fortune-teller to show me the future in her crystal ball. I have a voice of my own, I can predict my own future. Someday I will forget all my memories. They will be swept away by a broom. Someday I will die. An owl will come for my soul. That’s it. I would prefer everything else to come as a surprise. To make me laugh out loud. In delight. Or madness. I really don’t care all that much.