The Crossroad

Cassandra is at a crossroad.

At night.

In winter.

She really does know how to choose a

setting.

She has come here deliberately.

Which is perhaps the more concerning

part.

 

There are old places in the world where

certain things can still be asked.

If you know how.

Cassandra does.

Apparently she's been keeping that

particular piece of information to

herself.

I'm not surprised.

She has always had a rather selective

approach to disclosure.

 

Someone is waiting for her.

Cassandra has come for an audience.

With whom is her business.

For now.

The figure at the crossroad, however,

has other ideas.

And seven questions.

Cassandra came prepared to pay a

tribute.

She may shortly wish she'd brought

gold.

But then, Cassandra has never been

particularly good at leaving questions

alone.

 

the crossroad

 

I stood at the crossroad.

The rain poured down heavily, and the

moon offered only a fraction of its light

tonight.

The cold of winter touched my skin, like

fingers trying to strip away not only my

coat, but every warmth I had left in me.

The figure before me smiled.

 

"What do you want, Cassandra?" The

voice cut through the rain, crystal clear.

"An audience," I said as the tradition

demanded.

"It shall be granted if you pay the

tribute," the figure replied,

following the same tradition.

 

"Name your tribute," I said,

as it should be.

But to my surprise, it did not demand

what was usually required.

Gold. Rare objects.

Instead, the smile widened. "Seven true

answers."

 

I froze for a moment. The trap was

already closing; I could feel it.

But I had no choice. I needed to speak

to him. I needed that audience.

The wind fell still, as if holding its

breath to hear my answer.

Everything in me screamed, run.

But I didn’t.

 

I stood there and exhaled slowly. Then,

almost in a whisper, I said,

"Ask your questions. My answers will be

the tribute."

His sharp gaze moved over my face.

"True answers, Cassandra. Or the

tribute will be worthless."

I nodded, defiant. But I knew I couldn’t

hide anything. Not here. Not now.

 

I raised my chin slightly. "Go on."

The figure smiled, as if bathing in it,

and watched me with quiet

amusement.

"When they looked at you… something

did not arrive." It wasn’t even a

question.

I knew instantly what was meant.

Too easy. A test. Not of the truth itself,

but of how I would speak it. Clever.

More than I had anticipated, and it

bothered me that I hadn’t seen it

coming.

I took a breath and let my pride settle

before I answered.

 

"Kinship. And with it, belonging." My

voice remained calm.

Nothing new. Nothing dangerous to

say.

The figure smiled, pleased with my

answer.

It made something tighten in me. But I

said nothing. I just held its gaze.

 

"Second one, Cassandra. You will like

this one."

A pause.

"It did not go unfelt."

Tension moved through my body. It

threw the words at me like a challenge.

I pressed my lips together and inhaled

slowly. My eyes fixed on its sharp face.

"Yes, but feelings can be contained.

Buried. Forgotten. Sometimes erased."

I stopped there. A risk.

 

The figure studied me, patiently

waiting. It was not over yet.

"Rejection. Guilt. Shame. Anger. Pain."

I paused, then threw the next words at

him.

"You want more? I think that already

paints a picture, doesn’t it?"

 

The figure didn’t even flinch. Just a

calm look at my face.

"Powerful feelings you name. We are

pleased."

The voice remained neutral.

 

"And still… you hoped it would be

different." A faint smile lingered on its

lips. It enjoyed this.

My cheeks burned. It landed deeper

than I expected. Silence stretched

between us.

"Truth. Or the tribute is not paid." The

word cut through the silence.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then

straightened my posture.

"Yes, I did. For too long sometimes, and

too short other times.

Hope is not something I trust anymore."

I sighed and added quieter, "Too

fragile."

 

The figure stood still, but for a fraction

of a second I saw its fingers twitching,

as if it wanted to reach out. Instead, it

asked the next question.

"You were there… but never entirely."

I swallowed hard. My chest tightened as

guilt rose before I could stop it.

I shook my head slightly, as if my body

resisted the answer. But I knew it.

I had asked that question myself too

many times.

 

"There is a place in me I prefer not to

share.

It is shielded by something I cannot

name."

The figure looked at me almost

surprised.

"Interesting."

 

It glanced around briefly, then

returned its focus.

It was relentless. I could feel where this

was leading.

"What took shape… in the space you

left untouched."

The voice was calm, nearly soothing.

I looked at it. This was not about power

or strength.

It was worse. Way worse. It was about

that place.

My eyes burned. Tears rose, but I held

them back.

I would not let it see me break.

 

I pressed my hand against my chest.

"An abandoned graveyard of things

that are not meant for me."

The words came sharper than I

intended.

The figure tilted its head slightly.

"A graveyard. Fitting."

 

I said nothing. I looked at him and

waited.

The previous questions had already

cost me.

I could feel my control slip.

He noticed. Of course he did.

 

"And so… you kept it that way."

The words landed like a blade.

My breath caught, my cheeks burning.

Not anger. Shame. He had led me here.

Step by step. I knew it.

There was no turning back now.

 

"It is a dark place. Nothing you want to

share or let anyone into."

A pause.

"A place I rarely visit myself. And when I

do… it’s painful."

I looked to the ground, then back at

him.

"It is the place that was never meant to

be seen."

My voice was rough now, the words

harder to hold.

 

He stepped closer and gently lifted my

chin.

"All that distance… did it spare you?"

I couldn’t move.

I stared into his eyes and saw

something I hadn’t expected.

Compassion.

 

My lips trembled. I couldn’t hold it back

any longer.

The more he looked at me, the harder it

became

to hold myself together. He didn’t look

away.

"No." My voice broke. "I did everything to

forget this place. Everything."

 

My whole body shook.

"Every memory that told me I was not

good enough is buried there.

And everything I did to soothe it. No

vow, no success, no cutting off,

no matter how hard… nothing ever

reached it."

 

I swallowed, but the words kept coming.

"I will die, and this godforsaken place

will die with me."

The tears came, burning like fire on my

skin.

"They all leave. Or they were never there

at all.

And I am done pretending it is

coincidence."

My voice dropped, but did not steady.

 

"It’s me. It was always me."

His touch softened. Light as a feather,

he wiped the tears from my face.

"No."

A pause.

"You were never met."

 

My mind tried to grasp it.

The way he had said it made me

question everything I knew.

Then it pulled me under. My eyes

searched as the meaning settled.

My tears slowed, but felt sharper now.

 

"I was not chosen," I whispered.

A breath.

"It was never about me. It was about…

not being seen.

Not being chosen."

A sound escaped my lips, soft and

devastating at once.

"I didn’t allow anyone to choose me."

My breath broke.

"I pushed them away… or ran away."

 

I couldn’t say more. The silence

between us felt charged.

He still held my chin, but his grip had

softened.

"Yes," he said quietly. "You paid the

tribute."

A pause.

"And the audience was already yours."

A faint smile touched his lips.

 

"It is not here, at the crossroad, what

you truly seek."

His gaze held mine.

"This place decides between life and

death.

And your graveyard will not be taken

tonight, Cassandra."

A pause.

"Even Death knows the difference

between being chosen and merely

taken."

Death.

 

He looked at me, not unkindly.

"Let someone choose you before we

meet again."

A breath.

"Truly choose you."

His voice was softer now.

"It is not a graveyard."

A final pause.

"It never was, Cassandra. It is a garden."

 

REVELATION

V — The Hierophant

 

Well.

Before anyone gets confused.

That wasn't Death.

You've met Death.

Elias.

Charming. Sharp. Excellent suit.

This was someone else.

 

Death, it seems, received Cassandra's

request for an audience and

delegated.

Apparently, some traditions still have

to be observed.

Even by Death.

I find this deeply amusing.

Cassandra may not.

 

What arrived instead was an old force.

Revelation.

The moment something already there

becomes impossible not to see.

Humans have been finding ways to

encounter this one for a very long time.

Priests.

Oracles.

Mystics.

Therapists came later.

Different chairs.

Same uncomfortable questions.

We've made progress.

Apparently.

 

That's the inconvenience with this

particular force.

Once you've seen something,

it becomes rather difficult to pretend

you haven't.

And then there is the graveyard.

Which apparently isn't one.

It is a garden.

You may remember.

There was one in Water.

Cassandra entered it.

Later, another waited beyond a veil.

She crossed into that one too.

And now she discovers another

in the place she was quite certain held

only what had died.

Interesting.

Cassandra does seem to have a

remarkable number of gardens.

Perhaps we should stop assuming

they're different ones.