I watched the stars through the window, wondering how the story ended. The night sky was surprisingly clear, every star hanging like a secret. They glowed with a strange, restless energy, as if they held back something they knew but wouldn’t reveal. 

The stars only share what they needed you to know—not what you wanted to know. So maybe my fate was wrapped in celestial mystery, hidden by those distant deities, or simply unworthy of the light. The stars pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, as if they were alive and aware of my questions.

Then, in the corner of my eye, something shifted.

Beyond the glass, down the shadowed hallways of The Castle, I sensed it—a malevolent energy. It coiled around the pillars like smoke, heavy and alive, its presence gnawing at the edges of my mind. It was thick, oppressive, and unsettling, making the air feel colder than it should. 

The same inexplicable whispers from the forest followed, wrapping around me like a vice—slow, insidious, seductive. They were like a lullaby, yes, but not one meant to soothe. No. This one commanded. It summoned, with the weight of something ancient and unholy, pulling me in with a grip I could neither see nor resist.

But somewhere, in the fog of my mind, a spark fought back.

I tore myself away just before the allure could swallow me whole. The curtains slammed shut as I staggered from the glass, my breath ragged, heart pounding like a war drum. Panic surged through me—an unstoppable tide crashing against the fragile walls of my mind.

Hands trembling, the world holding its breath beside me, I reached for the curtain once more.

Why? I wasn’t sure. Maybe because I needed to see the stars again. To make sure they were still there. That the celestial world was still watching. Still untouched.

I pulled the fabric aside.

I didn’t know what I expected... but it wasn’t this.

An empty hall.

The malevolent energy had vanished, erased clean, as if it had never dared to exist. And yet, I lifted my eyes to the sky once more. The stars still hung in place—distant, silent, eternal.

Maybe they had seen it. Maybe they had seen everything. And maybe, just maybe, they had turned their gaze away not out of cruelty, but out of mercy.

The silence that followed felt unnatural—too clean, too sudden, like the air itself had flinched away. I stood there for a while, unmoving, listening for anything. A creak, a whisper, the hiss of that unseen smoke—but there was nothing. Just the low hum of The Castle breathing around me. My own heartbeat slowed, reluctantly letting go of the panic. And in that uneasy calm, the world felt thinner, like I’d stepped out of something ancient and terrible… only to land right back into the strange normalcy of my night. 

I watched Kendi sleep so peacefully, as if the air hadn’t just thickened with dread. As if nothing had tried to crawl through my mind and leave claw marks behind.

But I couldn’t rest. Not with my head still spinning. Not with that lingering question: What was that? And worse… Was it part of the trials?

The title Beautiful Witch hung over me like a crown of glass. Beautiful, yes. But threatening to shatter.

A sudden knock shattered the silence, jolting me upright. I held my breath, listening. Another knock. Slower this time. Heavier. Like whoever—or whatever—was on the other side knew I was wide awake.

Midnight wasn’t exactly prime time for The Castle’s hospitality, and I was fairly certain the old lady hadn’t mentioned room service at this hour. For a moment, I wondered if the darkness itself had reached out, a prelude to whatever lay beyond the door.

My chest tightened, and the air dared not to move as my eyes locked onto the door. 

I swung my feet over the side of the bed every movement feeling heavier than the previous one. I stepped cautiously, each creak of the wooden floor making my pulse quicken. Shadows flickered across the walls, twisting in the dim lights. 

My hand hesitated on the latch.

Then, with a huge sigh and a short instinctive prayer to the stars, I unlatched the door.

Suddenly, a blinding flash hit me. “Got you,” Sofia whispered, grinning as her Polaroid camera hummed and spat out a picture.

I blinked, disoriented, and glanced down at the photo. I looked like an overused cardigan left out in the rain.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, half-irritated, half-relieved.

"Thought we could have a girls' night," she said with a mischievous glint. "You know, before we all, y'know….go in the trials." 

She held up a bag of potato chips as if she were brandishing a rare artifact.

"How'd you even get those?" I muttered, eyeing the bag. 

In the Castle junk food wasn't exactly a thing. 

Sofia shrugged, winking. "Foodies have their ways."

Before I could reply, she snapped another picture, as if she needed some evidence to survive the night. I only groaned.

"Your bed is amazing," she said, waving the photo. "You should see mine—it's like a bird's nest. And my roommate? I think I'll strangle her soon enough." She took another shot of the fairy lights, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Have you noticed anything weird around here?" I asked, hoping I wasn’t the only one strapped into this rollercoaster—heart in my throat, dread clawing at my ribs like it knew something I didn’t.

"Oh, totally. This place is so fancy, I’m half-expecting a chandelier made of enchanted hamsters. Or, like, a bill in the mail for every breath we take." She grinned, riding her own wave of sarcasm.

I managed a laugh, but it was thin. Fragile.

"I mean... something darker."

I tried to keep my voice level, but the words felt heavy, like they came wrapped in lead.

Her grin faltered, just a flicker—but I caught it.

Then, gently, "What’s going on, Doughnut Dragon?"

I bit my lip and waved it off, but my chest ached with the lie.

"Nothing."

"Oh no, you don't," she said, putting her Polaroid camera aside, fidgeting with the corner of the door. "Out with it."

I wasn't ready to answer, I wasn't going to elaborate what I maybe-imagined.

Before I could answer—lie again—Kendi's groggy voice broke through. "Can you two keep it down? Some of us need sleep."

Sofia perked up. "Care to join us for a midnight tarot session?"

She didn’t wait for an answer. With all the grace of a mischievous gremlin, she marched over, yanked the blankets off Kendi, and tossed a chip at her face for good measure.

"Ugh, fine!" Kendi groaned, rubbing her eyes.

I sighed, a weight lifting from my chest, and joined them as they sat on the floor.

We set up in the dim light, arranging candles, crystals, and a small cloth for the cards. The candles flickered as if stirred by unseen winds, shadows dancing around us. 

I could feel the air shift as we settled in, the room bathed in soft, flickering light. I laid out the tarot cards, my hands familiar with each one. The shadows seemed to deepen around us, leaning in.

"Alright, first rule of tarot," I began, looking between Sofia and Kendi, "the stars only tell you what they want you to know, not what you're looking for."

Sofia rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was intrigued. We'd done this a hundred times, but it never lost its thrill.

"So who's first?" I asked, popping a chip into my mouth as I offered up the cards.

"Fine, let's get this over with," Kendi muttered, eyes half-closed. "Tell me something important, like when I'll finally get some sleep."

"Come on, be serious," I nudged her.

Sofia jumped in. "You don't want me to make you pick a real question."

Kendi huffed. "Alright, then tell me who my future husband will be."

"Love life, then," I said, shuffling the deck with a grin. "The cards don't exactly drop names, just symbols."

I went with three cards—classic and clean. The stars didn’t need five voices to tell you you’re crushing on someone.

Three cards were for choice, for simple questions with tangled answers. Unlike five that was reserved for fate—or warnings.

I arranged them in front of her, the tips of my fingers tingling as I touched each one. The flickering candlelight cast slow-dancing shadows across the velvet cloth, and the smell of charred sage lingered, curling like breath around us. The moment felt suspended, like time had slipped sideways.

I turned over the first card: The Twin Flame Constellation.

Twin souls, mirrored across lifetimes. A convergence of fated hearts. Stars orbiting one another, destined to collide in beauty or ruin.

The second card shimmered faintly beneath my fingers as I revealed it: The Lunar Gate.

Mystery. Intuition. Shadows between stars. A veil draped across understanding. The kind of card that whispered truths in riddles and dreams, not daylight.

And then the third: The Cosmic Matron.

Creation and compassion in celestial form. The divine feminine encoded in galaxies. She watches, not as a queen, but as a womb of stars.

“These are good,” I said, smiling softly. “Your love life might be a bit of a mystery, but the stars are hinting at a sacred kind of romance. You’ll meet someone who feels like a soulmate—but only after you know who you are.”

Kendi smirked, the sleep fading from her eyes. “Sounds cliché, but okay.”

Sofia snickered. “Doesn’t mean he’ll be cute, though.”

I swatted her lightly. “Sofia, stop sabotaging her reading.”

“Oh, fine,” Sofia replied, a grin still playing on her lips. Then she leaned in, voice dipped in curiosity and mischief. “Alright, Doughnut Dragon. Ever tried to read for yourself? You know… like, what’ll finally take you out?”

I went silent the idea digging deeper in my mind.

We’d tried to read her death once, but the stars—mercifully—refused to answer. Probably for the best. Sofia would take a death prophecy as a dare, throwing herself at monsters just to see if the cards were right.

But for myself?  I hadn’t.

I only asked about the trials—how they'd start, how they would end, would I win, would I not. And nothing came. The stars never spoke clearly when the questions turned inward. As if I was the one story they weren’t allowed to spoil.  Like even the cosmos tiptoed around my fate.

But maybe I was asking all the wrong questions.  Maybe it was never about the beginning or the end.
Maybe all I ever needed to know— was what would take me out.

The trials weren’t meant to kill, not officially. But rumors whispered otherwise. Not many deaths—just a fraction. A margin of error. And sometimes, even the best necromancers couldn’t bring someone back.

I looked at Sofia for a second too long then sighed.

For this reading, I needed five cards—because this was no mere question. This was fate itself, etched in starlight and sealed by the universe’s cold, unyielding hand.

I laid the cards before me, and began to shuffle. The air thickened, crackling with energy. The candlelight shimmered oddly, like the flame could see me. The cosmos held its breath.

I drew the first card: The Starfall.

The skies collapsing. Sudden upheaval. A sacred ruin. The kind of change that doesn’t just shift your path—it obliterates it. A lightning strike across the soul’s blueprint. My breath caught in my chest.

I reached for the second card and turned it slowly. The Veilwalker.

A crossing. A transition between selves. The death of one form, the slow becoming of another. Not mortal death—but a death of certainty. I saw it not as an end, but a door standing open in deep space.

I drew the third card: The Nebula's Embrace.

A swirling storm of stardust and shadow, where light is born and devoured all at once. It was the heart of chaos—a crucible where everything dissolves and is reshaped. Not destruction, but transformation in its purest, most violent form. The cosmos folding in on itself, whispering that before something new can rise, everything must unravel.

My fingers trembled as I revealed the fourth card: The Eternal Orbit.

A lone planet circling a distant sun, caught in an endless dance of light and shadow. It spoke of cycles unbroken, a fate bound not by endings but by eternal return. The card hummed with quiet inevitability—no matter how far I drifted, some truths would always pull me back, caught in gravity’s unyielding embrace.

My palms were slick now. I hesitated. Then drew the final card.

The Binding Star.

It pulsed darkly, ominously, in the candlelight. Temptation. Obsession. Power bound in silk cords. A force not external, but intimate. Something—someone—you let too close.

Sofia leaned forward, her gaze no longer teasing. “Well? What’s it say?”

I stared at the spread, trying to make sense of the pattern. The fall. The transformation. The chain. The embrace.

I forced a smile. “Um... It’s... complicated.”

Sofia raised an eyebrow. “Spill it, Doughnut Dragon.”

I took a slow breath, eyes tracing the stardust patterns across the card faces. The Starfall collapsing, the Veilwalker masked as rebirth, the Nebula’s Embrace cloaked in shadowed charm.

“The stars seem to think… someone close to me is part of it. Someone who’ll set the change in motion, maybe even...”

I froze, a chill slithering down my spine like spilled moonlight.

My eyes met hers.

“You, Sofi,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “The cards say… you’re the one who’ll end me.”

The candle flickered. Once.

Then again.

A slow, deliberate pulse—as if something unseen had just leaned in to listen.

Sofia didn’t speak.

She stared at me, unmoving. Her smile, always ready, didn’t come this time. The silence wasn’t just still—it pressed in. Thick. Ominous.

The cards between us shivered, though no one had touched them 

Then, finally, Sofia exhaled. A shaky breath she probably didn’t mean to let out.

“Well,” she said, voice too light, too bright, “at least I’m in your future.”

She reached for the chips. The crinkle of the bag was jarring in the quiet. She tossed one into her mouth, chewing slowly, eyes still on me.

Kendi leaned back in her chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Lovely,” she muttered. “Best friends till the end.”

No one laughed.

But as I gathered the cards, a candle flickered and went out, leaving a sliver of shadow stretching across the spread, a final omen that felt like a breath from something beyond. 

The stars had spoken, and they never lied.