The Wheel
Cassandra has felt something for a
while now.
She knows it's there.
She has even stopped pretending she
doesn't.
Progress.
Tonight, apparently, something has
decided that feeling it is no longer
enough.
I know what's coming.
Cassandra doesn't.
This is going to be fun.
For me.
Cassandra may require a moment.
She has been waiting for something.
Although Cassandra would strongly
object to the word waiting.
She has been observing.
Assessing.
Possibly attempting to influence events
through sheer concentration.
Very different.
Apparently.
The trouble is, what she's about to meet
has never been particularly impressed
by plans.
Or schedules.
Or the deeply human conviction that
things should happen
when one is finally ready for them.
I know him, of course.
We go back.
Rather difficult not to.
He has always had opinions about
timing.
So have I.
We don't always agree.
Cassandra is about to discover why.
I expect she'll have opinions too.
Excellent.
The Wheel
I had felt it since that night.
Some days it was barely there. A
thought beneath the day. A soft
pressure beneath my skin.
On other days, it rested on my
shoulders like a warm cloak.
The one thing we cannot control,
explain, or deny.
The lingering presence of Fate.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a man
standing before a huge wheel
made of starlight against the dark
night sky.
It was an astonishing sight.
Silver light illuminated the wheel as it
spun slowly through the darkness.
I could not see where it began or where
it ended.
It seemed older than the night around
us, older than the questions I had
brought with me.
The man seemed familiar, but I could
not place him anywhere.
His face was friendly, and his eyes held
the particular spark of someone
who had already seen something
interesting and was trying very hard
not to spoil it
He moved his hands in a small, elegant
gesture, and the wheel behind him
turned a little faster.
“You are here.”
His voice was calm.
Neither soothing nor intimidating.
I looked at him, then at the wheel
again.
Slightly irritated.
He noticed.
A warm laugh escaped him, sudden
and genuine.
“Oh, come on. Yes, you might have
expected three very mysterious ladies
or a brooding dark figure. But I am
none of that.”
He looked down at himself for a
moment. “And I like surprises.”
I nodded, more automatically than
consciously.
“You are…”
I let the sentence remain unfinished
between us.
“Fate,” he said slowly, with a grin.
“The one and only.”
Then he winked.
“Fate,” I echoed.
The name sat strangely between us.
After a pause, I asked, “Why am I here?”
He tapped his foot a few times against
the non-existent ground. The wheel
spun faster.
“Just a little conversation. Professional
curiosity,” he said, smiling at me.
“You do not need to be afraid. I just
want to talk.”
Against my better judgement, the
words came out of my mouth
before I could stop them.
“Why does… Fate… want to talk to me?”
I crossed my arms over my chest.
He looked at me with a smile and
walked slowly towards me.
“Because you finally seem to be
following me. Took you a while.”
He glanced at the wheel, which turned
as if it had heard him.
“But you came eventually.” His eyes
found mine again.
“I appreciate persistence. Even the
reluctant kind.”
I looked at him, still slightly irritated.
“So it seems,” I murmured. Then I
added,
“But I cannot be the only one following
you and getting invited to a little chat.”
He laughed.
“No, of course not. But I am curious,
Cassandra. How was your last year?”
I stared blankly at him.
“The last year,” I murmured. “You mean
after that night,
when I felt you standing beside me and
everything changed?”
The wheel spun faster behind him.
He smiled at me again.
“Yes. That night. And since then, I have
been watching you.
You did well. Better than I expected. At
least most of the time.”
“Comforting.”
“Like everyone, you tried from time to
time to control Fate.
You tried to slow things down. You tried
to make other things happen faster.”
I looked at him.
“Can’t promise you I will stop.”
“Good,” he said “That would have been
terribly boring.”
He moved his hand, and the wheel
answered him with another turn.
“You can try to negotiate with it, fight it,
ignore it, or attempt to outsmart it.
People have been doing that for
centuries.” He smiled. “It never gets old.”
“See? It has its own timing, no matter
how you try to slow it down or make it
faster.”
“Wouldn’t have ever thought that,” I
replied dryly, with a smirk.
“I know,” he said, rolling his eyes with a
laugh.
“Anyway, you are here. No questions? I
am surprised.” The laughter in his eyes
was unmistakable. “Timid?”
“Alright,” I said. “Why?”
He waited.
“You know what people say. Everything
happens for a reason and so on.”
I looked at him. “Is that all you?”
He laughed out loud.
“You believe that? Come on. You can do
better.”
I looked around, then back at him.
“Things happen randomly.”
He did not answer. He just looked at
his fingers and moved them without
rhythm or order.
The wheel spun faster.
“Alright,” I said. “Maybe not all
randomly. Maybe some things are from
you.”
He tilted his head and raised an
eyebrow.
“A bit boring,” he said.
I stared at him, grunting a little.
“Not all from you. Not all random. Not
just some things from you…”
I paused.
“What is that wheel doing, then?”
He looked at me with a smirk.
“Oh, that one?” He glanced over his
shoulder. “As if there were another one.”
“Yes. That one.”
“Moving.”
I waited.
Nothing else came.
“That is your answer?”
He looked at me, completely serious.
“It is a very good answer.”
I thought about it.
Nothing he said really made sense.
Or perhaps it made too much sense,
and I simply did not like it.
He tapped again on the non-existent
floor.
“You still thinking, or admiring the
view?” he teased me.
“Both. Definitely both.” I looked at him.
“You are not helping me, are you?”
“I do not think you need help. And you
would not like it anyway, because the
answer is so obvious.”
He said the last word very slowly, a
mischievous grin spreading across his
face.
“Alright, alright. Give me a minute.”
I looked once more at the wheel.
“So we are either getting a good fate or
a bad fate?”
He looked at me as if I had just
suggested something deeply offensive.
“Because what? I decide it?”
“You are Fate.”
“Yes, darling. Not customer service.”
I stared at him.
He smiled.
“I do not decide whether you get a
good story or a bad one. I merely make
sure it keeps moving.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It is not meant to be reassuring.” His
eyes lit up. “It is meant to be
interesting.”
I looked at him.
Really looked at him.
“So you are telling me that you are not
deciding anything at all?
How do you know what is right or
wrong?”
He looked genuinely amused.
“I don’t.”
I waited.
His smile widened.
“Not a single clue.”
“And you’re fine with that?”
“Entirely.”
He glanced at the wheel, almost
affectionately.
“That’s rather the point.”
I could not say a word.
I stared at him and blinked slowly,
twice.
“That is a surprise,” I finally said.
“Yes,” he said delighted.
The wheel behind him slowed a little.
He looked at it. Then back at me.
“It is giving us choices,” I said.
The words sounded almost right.
Then I shook my head.
“No. Wait.”
I looked at the turning silver.
“It is giving us possibilities.”
For once, he did not answer
immediately.
Then his smile appeared - bright,
almost proud.
“There you are,” he said. “I was
wondering when you would find it.”
“Find what?”
“The difference.”
He gestured towards the wheel.
“A choice can feel like a door closing.
A possibility is a door that has not
decided what it wants to become yet.”
“We decide.”
“Mostly.” He looked at me. “Often
against your own judgement.”
I laughed.
“Yes. To that I can agree.”
His smile softened.
“The wheel never stops.”
I looked at it again.
Then I closed my eyes for a brief
second.
When I opened them, the question had
already risen to the surface.
My hands were shaking a little.
“Why did he leave me?”
The wheel kept turning.
Fate did not answer immediately.
For the first time, there was no laughter
in his face.
No teasing. No clever answer waiting
behind his eyes.
He looked at me for a long moment.
“I hoped he wouldn’t.”
I nodded slowly.
We stood there in silence.
There was a strange beauty in that
answer.
Fate had hoped, as I had.
I looked at the wheel again.
It was still turning slowly against the
night sky. Turn after turn.
Possibilities.
Hope.
Choices.
Some arrived slowly, almost unnoticed.
Some so fast that we might recognise
them only in the blink of an eye.
He stood there, looking at me, and
moved his hands again.
Next turn, I thought.
“Did anyone ever, in all ages, choose
right?” I finally asked.
For the first time, he looked surprised.
Then a satisfied smile appeared on his
face.
It was true.
He liked surprises.
He came a little closer.
“What is right?” he asked.
The silver light moved across his face.
“So my answer might be no. No one.”
He paused.
“And yes. Everyone.”
I looked at him.
“That makes no sense.”
He smiled.
“It rarely does.”
Then he glanced at the wheel.
“All spins of the wheel.”
After a moment, he smirked at me
again.
“What now?”
“I don’t know,” I said, smiling at him.
“Don’t ask me.” He chuckled.
“Next time we meet, you should try
spinning the wheel.”
“And if I do not like what it brings?”
He laughed.
“Then complain elegantly. You are very
good at that.”
The wheel began to move faster.
“Follow its rhythm. Or don’t. Fight it for
a while if you must.
But do not stand beside it forever,
pretending you are not curious.”
He paused and blew me a kiss.
“Nothing is ever what it seems on the
outside. You know that.”
I made a tiny bow. A recognition of
what he had said and of what lay
behind those words.
The silver wheel spun faster until its
shape disappeared into light.
Then I heard his last words.
“Not a goodbye.”
A pause. A warm laugh, resonating
through the darkness.
“That was an invitation.”
FATE
X — The Wheel of Fortune
Well.
Fate.
A gigantic wheel made of stars.
A man who introduces himself as Fate.
Not our most challenging
identification.
Humans have been trying to
understand this particular force for a
very long time.
The Greeks gave him three women.
The Norse put another three
under a tree.
The Romans gave him a woman
with a wheel.
There has been spinning.
Weaving.
Measuring.
Cutting.
An extraordinary amount of thread.
Apparently, when humans don't know
what happens next, craft supplies
become reassuring.
Fate himself seems considerably less
concerned.
He turns the wheel.
Possibilities appear.
What happens next?
No idea.
He seems delighted by this.
Cassandra is not.
She has finally reached Fate himself.
Surely someone here knows what's
going on.
Apparently not.
Imagine reaching the cosmic authority
responsible for your destiny
and discovering he isn't management.
He's not even customer service.
We've established that.
And perhaps that's the interesting
thing about Fate.
He doesn't write the story.
He keeps it moving.
Possibility.
Chance.
Choice.
Hope.
The unexpected.
All thrown into motion.
Humans keep asking which one was
meant to happen.
Fate keeps spinning.
Rather rude.
Rather wonderful.
Cassandra will continue trying to
negotiate.
Fate will continue enjoying this.
I see no reason to interfere.
And then, just before he leaves -
Not a goodbye.
An invitation.
An invitation to what?
Another meeting?
Another possibility?
Another turn of the wheel?
Perhaps.
Or perhaps Fate knows something
after all.
No.
That would ruin the joke.
Let's just say the wheel is still turning.
