The interior of the fortune teller's shop enveloped us in a world apart from the vibrant marketplace outside. Heavy velvet curtains in deep crimson and purple draped the walls, muffling sound and creating an atmosphere of intimate secrecy. The air was thick with incense—sandalwood and something more exotic I couldn't quite identify. Crystal specimens of various sizes caught and refracted the flickering light from dozens of candles scattered throughout the space.
The fortune teller herself was a surprisingly elegant woman. Despite her apparent age, she carried herself with remarkable poise. Her silver hair was woven with small charms and beads that clicked softly when she moved, and her eyes—a striking amber color in the dim light—seemed to take in everything at once.
"Welcome," she greeted us, gesturing to the circular table at the center of the room. "I am Madame Vesta. Please, be seated."
