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Yerem didn't say anything right away after Amanises took the three cards. He simply smiled—a quiet, knowing curve of his lips, like he'd seen it coming long before it happened.
His long, pale fingers tapped the wooden table in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sound was barely audible, but it was enough. Enough to pull the tension from the room and stretch it thin until it dissolved into the air.
A few seconds passed in stillness before Yerem lifted his gaze. His silver eyes flickered in the candlelight, soft and unreadable.
"So," he said casually, as if suggesting tea. "How about one more reading?"
Amanises turned to him, one brow arching ever so slightly. "About what?"
"Love."
The single word hung in the air like a ghost—silent, weightless, and yet somehow heavy enough to shift the atmosphere. Even the flame of the small candle between them seemed to dim, as though the word had taken all the air from the room.
Amanises didn't answer at first. She stared at him, eyes narrowing just slightly. Not hostile. Not skeptical. Just searching. Like she wanted to know what part of him thought this was a good idea.
Yerem didn't flinch under the scrutiny. He didn't push or explain. He simply waited, fingers still tapping—now slower, steadier.
Finally, she gave a small nod. Her expression didn't change, but something stirred in her eyes. A ripple. A flicker. Maybe a memory.
She reached for the deck again. Her movements were different now. Slower. More careful. Her fingers brushed along the edges of the cards with something close to reverence. She shuffled, then split the deck into three piles, recombined them, and turned the stack to face him.
As she passed it back, her fingers brushed against his—just for a heartbeat. A fleeting touch. Maybe accidental. Maybe not. Yerem didn't react, didn't glance up. He took the cards like nothing had happened at all.
"Alright," he murmured, inhaling once through his nose. "Three cards."
He laid down the first.
**The Lovers.**
Two figures stood in a garden, hands almost touching, a radiant angel hovering above them. Its wings were outstretched, as if protecting them—or binding them together.
Yerem smiled faintly but didn't speak at once. He let the silence have its say first.
"This card," he said finally, "speaks of real connection. Something rare. Deeper than desire. Deeper than fear. A bond that feels... inevitable."
Amanises said nothing, but her gaze didn't move from the card. She barely blinked. The firelight danced in her eyes, but there was something else there too—something raw. Real.
"This means," Yerem continued, "your heart already knows who it's reaching for. And if you ever come together... it won't be small."
Still, she stayed quiet. But Yerem noticed the small shift in her hand—fingers curling slightly into her lap. Not nervous. Just... bracing.
She looked tired, not physically, but in that way people get when they've carried too much hope too long. When hope starts to feel like weight instead of light.
Yerem's voice lowered a little.
"But..."
He flipped the second card.
**Five of Wands.**
Five men flailed in a chaotic scuffle, their wooden staffs clashing midair. There was no real violence, but no harmony either—just confusion and struggle.
"This card means conflict," Yerem said, tone neutral. "Competition. Interference."
Her jaw tightened slightly.
"There are others," he added. "You're not the only one who sees him. And if you wait too long, if you hesitate... someone else might reach him first."
She didn't flinch, but something flickered through her eyes.
"This isn't just about love," Yerem said. "It's about resolve. Knowing what you want—before it slips through your fingers."
Then he laid down the third.
**Seven of Cups.**
A man stood before seven floating chalices. Each one offered something different: riches, a snake, a mask, a tower, a crown, a beautiful face, and an ominous cloud.
"Temptation," Yerem murmured. "Or confusion."
He met her gaze.
"He doesn't know what he wants. Not fully. Maybe he's too surrounded by other people's voices. Or maybe… he's afraid of choosing wrong. So he chooses nothing."
Amanises exhaled slowly. Her hair fell forward, shielding part of her face. It wasn't sadness that crossed her expression—it was something quieter. A kind of weary understanding.
Love, for her, had always lived somewhere distant. Not painful, just... vague. Like a dream she kept forgetting on purpose.
She smiled faintly. It didn't reach her eyes.
Yerem studied her a moment longer, then said, almost gently, "If you're not careful... this will fade. Not because you failed. But because no one was brave enough to reach."
The candlelight flickered. The shadows danced.
But no visions came. No ghost rivers. Just the weight of words and choices that hadn't yet been made.
Amanises blinked slowly. Her thoughts buzzed, but she didn't speak them. She looked at Yerem again, and in that glance was a story no card could explain.
She opened her mouth—then closed it.
Yerem had already begun gathering the cards, his expression unreadable. Back to his practiced stillness.
Amanises looked down, letting her hair fall just enough to mask her face. She wouldn't ask more. Not now.
"Thank you, Yerem," she said quietly.
She cleared her throat. "That made things… clearer. Or at least more interesting."
Yerem raised a brow, smirking. "Glad to know heartbreak can still be entertaining."
She gave him a look. "You have a gift, you know. For making people question every major decision in under five minutes."
"I try," he said with a half-bow. "It's part of the package."
"Do you give refunds?"
"No," he replied dryly. "But I do offer cryptic emotional damage at no additional cost."
She huffed a soft laugh. "Generous."
"Only on Wednesdays."
"Today's Tuesday."
"Exactly."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "So what do you offer on Tuesdays?"
"Existential dread. With a complimentary cup of denial."
"Very boutique."
"I like to stay niche."
She shook her head slowly. "You're ridiculous."
"And yet... here you are."
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm just emotionally trapped by the ambiance and questionable lighting."
He grinned. "See? That's the spirit."
Something light passed between them—unspoken but present. A thread, fragile but real.
She didn't stand. She didn't leave.
Instead, she studied him. Something warm—tentative—curled at the edges of her expression.
"So…" she said, drawing the word out.
Yerem glanced up, amused. "So?"
"Do you ever read for yourself?"
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "I already know my fate. Doom, drama, probably a handsome stranger in a cursed mirror. The usual."
Amanises laughed—a real one this time. Short, soft, but unmistakably genuine.
It was the first laugh between them all night.
They sat there, not moving, as the candle flickered quietly between them.
The silence that returned wasn't heavy anymore. It had changed—like something uncertain had started to turn. Not resolved. Just… no longer afraid to be seen.
Amanises tilted her head slightly and gave Yerem a long look. Her voice was quieter when she finally spoke again.
"All right," she said. "So what's your *real* purpose in inviting me to this place?"
Yerem didn't answer immediately. He just smiled again—wider this time, but still just as unreadable.
Then, without warning, he snapped his fingers.
**Snap!**
The shop vanished.
In an instant, they were no longer surrounded by candles and books and velvet curtains.
They were still seated across from each other at the same table and chairs—but now on the edge of a snowy mountain cliff.
The sky had turned to twilight, cast in strange blue light. Above them, a second sun hung low—icy and pale, casting everything in a surreal blue hue. The wind howled gently around them, stirring Amanises' cloak and sending flecks of snow across the table.
Beneath the cliff, fields of wheat stretched far below—not gold, but silver-blue, glittering like frost. A breathtaking, impossible world.
Amanises looked around, stunned but silent.
Yerem leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand.
"The trend of the times needs to move," he said, almost cheerfully. "And for that to happen, I need to die."
He smiled at her.
"So, Amanises," he asked. "Will you help me kill myself?"
A beat.
She blinked.
"Hah?"
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