The Reader

A weathered, yet welcoming face peered out from behind a royal purple portière. “Heather?” It took “Heather” a moment to react. People in her life almost exclusively referred to her as Lucky. She’d been introducing herself that way for years. Now and again, she would try to remember the exact moment the nickname was first given, but inevitably ended up in a muddle of memories - time and space coalescing; the countless thousands of occasions she’d heard that name, all crashing into one another. It became pointless to think about eventually.

The nickname had never bothered her, but at the same time it never quite felt appropriate. Heather didn’t consider herself uncommonly lucky, but neither was she routinely hindered by the merciless hand of misfortune. She was sure, though (almost sure) it had all started with her most inscrutable and oldest friend, Amber. It was Amber who had gifted her this tarot reading for her birthday on October 17th, and two weeks later Lucky Heather had come to discover her fate.

“I know the sign says ‘Madame Orphic’, but my name is Ophelia… you can call me that if you like,” came a tender, delicate voice through a wrinkled smile from the floating head at the curtain. “Everyone calls me Lucky,” said Heather, followed by an short, awkward exhale that was almost a laugh, but not quite. “Okay. Well, Lucky, you can come through now.” The head disappeared, and Lucky looked closely at the curtain itself. Made of thick, purple velvet, there were celestial objects adorning it, embroidered in gold thread. It at once looked beautiful and obnoxiously predictable. At the bottom were several golden tassels that swung lightly, brushing the rich chestnut wood of the antique floor below. The run-down wooden chair Lucky was sitting on creaked and cracked abruptly as she rose from it, and she wondered which - her chair or Madame Orphic - was the eldest. She moved across the hardwood floor, which also groaned sorrowfully. Pushing aside the purple curtain, she felt the gold tassels at the bottom sweep across her foot like scurrying mice. Madame Orphic came into full view now. Dressed solely in what Lucky could only describe as a lilac nightdress, Ophelia was a hunched-over, shuffling old skeleton. From behind, her shoulder blades were protruding visibly through the thin fabric.

She’d be nearly a foot taller than me if she stood up straight, thought Lucky.

Slowly, Ophelia took her seat at the other side of a modest, round table. It was made of tanned oak, and completely bare. More creaking; Lucky couldn’t be sure if this time it was the chair, the floor, the table… or the fortune teller herself. Sitting opposite, she watched silently as the old woman rummaged in a neighbouring trunk (also wooden, naturally), that looked as though it had formerly been set on fire. A single, naked lightbulb hung from the ceiling a few feet above their heads, the filament clearly visible. It was evidently vintage and lit the tight, hexagonal space dimly. Lucky considered offering Ophelia help to find whatever she was searching for, but became distracted. Looking around, she noticed that more velvet lined the walls - this time a deep burnt maroon, which swallowed much of the exhausted lone bulb’s luminescence - and there were a handful of framed photographs hanging.

Some were black and white images of a far more glamorous Madame Orphic with, presumably, notable people whose fortunes she had read in the past. Others had colour and looked slightly more recent, with the oracle looking slightly less glamorous, but still smiling enthusiastically beside the nameless “celebrities” - all of whom Lucky assumed were dead, possibly before she was ever born.

Her past outfits looked expensive - almost certainly custom pieces, embellished with various pieces of gold jewellery, and gave the woman in the pictures an impression of wealth and mysticism. There were no photographs of Madame Orphic as she appeared today.

The Reading

As her focus came back to the table, Lucky flinched slightly as she made immediate and intense eye contact with Madame Orphic - certainly not Ophelia any longer. The fortune teller held a deck of cards in her wizened hands. As she shuffled them casually, and competently, she held Lucky in a willful stare. The smiling, congenial old lady who had peeked out of the curtain had become a little intimidating. Lucky wondered if seeing the photos of the Madame in her prime had something to do with this abrupt shift in perception. Perhaps that was the point of them, beyond simple nostalgia. “Your friend has paid for you to have a basic six-card reading. I will draw cards from both the Major and Minor Arcanas to divine events forthcoming in your life.” Even the old woman’s voice had shifted now, into a low, quiet timbre; far more serious and - to Lucky - vaguely menacing. “You may ask a specific question before we begin, or, you can let the cards decide what they want to show you.” “Erm… I didn’t actually come here with anything in mind,” Lucky said after a moment of awkward reflection. The difference in atmosphere made the near walls suddenly feel even closer, and the light appear even dimmer. It was as though Madame had an assistant hidden somewhere, pulling levers and physically changing the environment. “Very well.” Madame Orphic placed the first card face-up on the table. “The placement of the cards is oriented to you. The first card dealt relates to the past, the foundation of your current situation.”

The Hermit, Reversed: An old man with white beard and cloak stands with his head bowed. He holds a long staff in one hand and a glowing lantern in the other.

“This card, in this configuration, reveals a period of isolation. Would you say you feel as though you suffer with loneliness more than the average person?” Lucky sat quietly, contemplating. “Is there a reason in your personal history that you would feel an elemental sense of disconnection to the world?” Continued Madame Orphic. Lucky had broken eye contact with the old woman, but could still feel her intense stare, burning much brighter than the feeble bulb above them. “You are not obligated to answer the questions, my dear,” came the warmer voice of Ophelia, breaking through momentarily. “Just appreciate that every card has various meanings in and of itself, as well as to the querent. There is no inherent negativity, only whatever meaning you assign to its intimations.” Lucky nodded, hoping Madame would register her subtle pressure to move onto the next card. Madame did, just so.

The Hanged Man: A man hangs upside down by one leg from a T-shaped wooden construction, with his other leg folded behind it at the knee. Around his head appears a halo effect.

“The second card relates to your current circumstances; what it is that you want, right now. This one from the Major Arcana, the Hanged Man, dealt upright, suggests you seek a new perspective. It is also associated with letting go, or surrender.” Lucky smiled. “A new perspective is what I’m hoping the cards will give me.” Madame Orphic remained quiet, watching. It was clear to the tarot reader that this young lady was a guarded person, unsure of the situation she was in. She rightly assumed that this was Heather’s first reading, and obtaining her trust would require a little patience. Lucky opened her mouth slightly, possibly to reveal something more. Instead she simply smiled, holding her lips tight, signalling to draw the next card.

The World, Reversed: An image of a joyous, nude woman appears inside a wreath holding two wands. Surrounding her are four winged figures: Man, Eagle, Bull and Lion. They represent the four elements.

“This third card illustrates all of your possible fates,” Madame Orphic continued, “In particular, though, it calls attention to your inner fears regarding the potential outcomes.” Lucky was sitting on her hands. She hadn’t expected a tarot reading to make her so anxious. “To see The World reversed in a tarot reading suggests a fear of incompletion,” clarified Madame, “Perhaps you worry a situation will never have closure.” The Madame’s hard stare had abated at this point, and a little of Ophelia’s warmth was coming out. Lucky was visibly on the verge of opening up, and so Madame went on, “This card warns of unfinished emotional business.” “I do carry a lot of worry,” Lucky said quietly, “About the past, about wishing things were different. Things I’ll never get to say. That I’ll always be alone.” Madame offered, “The next card details your conscious thoughts. Things you have control over, things you have going for you. Would you like to see it?” Lucky nodded, almost imperceptibly. The Tower. A tall, sturdy tower is struck by lightning. Flames burst from the windows as two figures fall from its heights.

Right way up, thought Lucky. Something about the upside-down cards made her uneasy. She found herself surprised that she was attributing so much agency to this handful of old pictures, although something about them felt authentic. Ancient magic.

“How old is Tarot?” She blurted out. “Tarot decks have been around for six hundred years,” Ophelia explained, now smiling, “It started in Italy as a card game. They weren’t used for telling fortunes until much later, though. In the Eighteenth Century.”

A card game? Suddenly, this entire afternoon appointment began to seem quite silly. Lucky felt the strength of the cards’ divinations, and Madame’s credibility, evaporate. How disappointing. That was, however, a major improvement over the discomfort she’d felt up until this point. She realised she could relax. Get through the next three cards, then get out of here. She needed time to get ready for Amber’s Hallowe’en party.

“The Tower,” began Madame Orphic, her tone now comfortably settled somewhere between solemn and friendly, “The Tower embodies sudden endings.” Lucky frowned. That’s not exactly positive. “‘Sudden endings’,” Madame quoted, “Might also be interpreted as swift change, or transformation. This card’s position in the spread - fourth - suggests that you hold within you a powerful ability: the ability to consciously adjust your own perspective, on whatever events may trouble you. Though, you may not even realise you have this skill.” Madame Orphic’s words left their first genuine impression on Lucky. She felt herself being drawn back into offering the cards a little reverence. Maybe Ophelia was just telling her what she wanted to hear, but it had worked. That small, dark, red room started to appear a little less stifling. Even the fortune teller noticed the change in mood, as though the two women had finally connected. After a brief quiet moment, Madame dutifully turned the next card over and placed it beside the others.

The Ace of Swords, Reversed: A hand emerges from a cloud holding a large sword upright. A crown encircled by a wreath adorns the tip of the sword. In the background can be seen a ragged mountain range.

“The Ace of Swords…” Began the foreseer. “What does it mean?” Lucky uttered instinctually. She was astounded to feel herself lurching forward over the table. Her doubts were already forgotten. “This card is reversed,” emphasised Madame Orphic. “The Ace of Swords can have many meanings when reversed. It is our first card from the Minor Arcana… however, it is our fifth of the reading. As the last card revealed conscious ability, the purpose of this one is to give insight into your subconscious. What forces work against you, in the deepest instincts of your mind?” Lucky sat captivated. She stared at the upside-down card, admiring the archaic artwork. “I get a strong impression that you’ve latched onto a particular issue in your life as we’ve proceeded,” Madame intimated. Lucky nervously jolted back from gazing at the cards, as Ophelia hastily added, “You don’t have to tell me! Just relax, and please, understand - tarot readings are not the only kind of divination I practice… and I’ve been doing this a long time.” She laughed and turned towards the wall. “I noticed you looking at my old photographs. Sometimes I can hardly believe that was me. What I’m getting at is, I have a sense about this issue of yours…” Ophelia turned back to look at Lucky, who was sitting on her hands again. “It’s nothing precise, just a feeling. I don’t want to pry. So I’m going to interpret this card based on my own subconscious instinct about what’s troubling you. Is that okay?” Lucky tried to soften her expression before responding with a permissive nod. “The Ace of Swords has many, many meanings when reversed,” repeated Madame,

“In your case I believe it is alluding to a few things. Just to remind you: these are processes of the sub-conscious; that darkest part of your being, from whence your oldest dreams can reach out to become today’s waking thoughts. The Ace of Swords, presented in reverse, can be associated with memory loss; it can be associated with confusion, or frustration. Most pertinent to you, I believe, it signifies the trait of misjudging a situation.”

There were too many thoughts whisking through Lucky’s head in that moment for her to speak, and Madame took the opportunity to explain further, “Keep in mind - misjudging a situation is not innately unfavourable. Have you ever worried that your friend has fallen out with you, just because you haven’t spoken for a few days? Only to find out later you had simply let your imagination get the better of you, and everything is fine? How about… being summoned to speak to your boss?” Ophelia was grinning, “You walk to their office, wondering the whole time what kind of trouble you’re in… then they thank you for some wonderful piece of work you’ve done. People can misjudge their lives in all sorts of ways.” Lucky suddenly inhaled energetically; she had been holding her breath without realising. It was beginning to sink for her in that reversed cards could have as much positive meaning as ones dealt upright, depending entirely on personal interpretation. Madame then revealed the final card, determined to send this young lady away less tense than when she arrived.

The Six of Cups, Reversed: Inside a walled courtyard, a young boy hands a cup of white flowers to a girl smaller than him. In the background, an adult guard with quarterstaff walks away from them. The harmonious scene invokes nostalgia, safety and comfort.

Madame Orphic immediately leapt into her explanation, “Your sixth and final card is, firstly, intended to forecast your most likely future. Its secondary function is to leave you with some useful advice for achieving - or avoiding - that future.” “I’m ready, Ophelia,” were the only words Lucky could offer. Her head felt heavy on her shoulders. “Sixth card, Six of Cups… seems appropriate,” remarked Madame, trying to maintain a somewhat tranquil demeanour. “Reversed.” Added Lucky. “Yes, well… I take that to mean you are ready to let go of the past. This card is a good indicator that you are ready to focus on tomorrow; and you shall, Lucky. Remember, your fourth card,”

Madame tapped The Tower,

“This explained how you have the power to change the way you think about events in your life. It’s certainly significant that both of these cards appeared in partnership during a single reading.”

Madame paused, then added, “You can never escape your past, Heather… but, if you can accept it, with an open heart, it will lead you into your future.” In that instant, Lucky felt as though she had been wrapped in a blanket. Hearing those words, put to her like that, was as reassuring as it was emancipating. Madame decided that now was the ideal moment to end the reading, and, as guilelessly as possible, declared:

“Well done for getting through your first tarot reading. If you enjoyed it, maybe you might also treat your generous friend to one for her birthday.”

Just a few minutes later she tenderly, but deliberately, guided Heather out the front door of the occult shop. “Goodbye, Heather,” said Madame, and with a contrived smile also remarked, “You stay Lucky,” which did not go unnoticed by her client. Madame watched her wander, apparently blissful, up the timeworn cobbles of Candlemaker Row and onto George IV Bridge. The sun was low in the sky now, and had already passed behind the nearby buildings. Eventually, Lucky Heather was out of sight, and only troubling thoughts of her persisted.

Sat once again at the round oak table, this time in Lucky’s chair, viewing the cards from the querent’s aspect, the tarot reader asked herself: Was it the pragmatic Madame Orphic, or the compassionate Ophelia, who had chosen a lie of omission? That poor girl.

The psychic glimpses she’d obtained into Lucky’s past were one frightful thing, but that final card, sixth to be dealt - concerning her future? It was too awful to be true. The fortune teller placated herself with the notion that precisely by reason of its utter improbability, she had rightly chosen not to disclose the ultimate, most contentious (and oft-disputed) prognostication of that card; the inverse Six of Cups:

The Unwelcome Visitor.

The Reaping

Breezing through town, Lucky navigated the crowds nimbly with youthful poise. People in costume were sporadic in the early evening, but the city’s Hallowe’en celebrations had distinctly begun. There were still a few hours until Amber’s party, so she chose to detour on the journey home, by way of her favourite place in Edinburgh - Calton Hill. After her experience with Madame Orphic, which had been comforting and creepy in equal measure, it just seemed thoroughly appropriate to absorb the last of the day’s light up there. Distracted by her fanatically-curated autumn playlist, before long, Lucky found herself dispatching Waterloo Place, and arriving at the foot of Calton Hill. She stood for a moment to observe the last few lingering tourist groups on the steps. They were taking pictures and noiselessly chattering to one another, unaware their trip was being mindfully attended - and even soundtracked - by the innocuous brunette in the long coat nearby. The worn steps to the summit were strewn with dry leaves that had deserted the abundant trees that flanked the upward path - mostly grey now, with only a few retaining their searing seasonal colours. Lucky imagined she could still hear them crackling underfoot, even with lively music pouring into her ears. A little short-winded, she soon arrived at the base of the National Monument, a place she often sat to take in the panoramic vistas across the city of Edinburgh and even as far as the Firth of Forth. The incongruous monument had been commissioned almost two hundred years ago as a tribute to soldiers lost in the Napoleonic Wars, and was a partial replica of Athens’ iconic Parthenon. Construction on the monument had been abandoned due to a lack of public funding, and now it lay - unfinished - two centuries later. The anachronistic architecture had partially contributed to Edinburgh’s “Athens of The North” epithet, and its unfulfilled promise had begotten its own nickname:

Edinburgh’s Folly.

Artlessly dragging herself up the colossal supporting ashlar, Lucky sat between two of the Greek columns and finally caught her breath. Feeling a faint vibration, she looked down to see her friend calling. “Amber!” She exclaimed. “Luckyyyy!” Came the answer back. “You still coming tonight?” “Yeah, definitely. I’m sitting at Calton Hill just now, heading home soon to get ready,” Lucky responded, adding, “I went to that tarot reading this afternoon.” Amber laughed, “Did Madame Orphic suggest that you buy me a reading?” “Are you psychic now as well?” Lucky joked, “How did you know that?” “How do you think I ended up getting that for your birthday?” Amber was laughing a lot now,

“Someone got me a reading for mine back in June.”

“What a cheek,” snorted Lucky, “I’ll tell you all about it in a bit. It was kind of weird, honestly. That Madame was pretty intense. Maybe I was just nervous… I was about to call you actually. I was just thinking about you.” “Cute.” Amber remarked with amusement. Now Lucky was laughing, “I wanted to ask you something, about the name Lucky… were you the one who came up with it?” “Surely you remember that?” Amber teased. “I was sure it was you,” Lucky scoffed back, “I just don’t remember the first time you used it.” “Oh my God, that’s easy,” retorted Amber, “It was at your old house, we were like six or seven. You got your Mum to tell me the story about when you were born.” Lucky suddenly started to notice the evening drop in temperature, and didn’t reply. Amber continued, “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten this.” “I haven’t forgotten that story,” Lucky interjected. She quickly changed the subject to their costumes for the party tonight. The two girls spoke, and laughed, as the colour of the sky passed through orange, then some pink, and finally into a light blue which was now darkening. Lucky realised she had better head home, and they said a rushed goodbye, knowing they would be reunited in a couple of hours. The quickest route back to her flat was down the Greenside Path on the north of the hill, which brought her out on Royal Terrace, only ten minutes from her place on Leith Walk. There was enough light in the sky for Lucky not to consider the passage unsafe, and she would have a view of the city for most of the way down. The precipitous path was sparsely lit, but light and sound from the bustling Elm Row nearby spilled over the dense treetops, and offered some comfort that human activity was close by. Putting her autumn playlist back on, Lucky began her descent. Creeping lonely through the pagan dusk, thoughts of the party were soon overtaken with powerful emotions about her past. The story about when you were born, Amber had said. It wasn’t much of a story; more of a fact, and rather a depressing one. Heather’s mother had been expecting twins, but Heather’s sister had been stillborn. The memory of Amber finding that out when they were younger now returned to her. Sitting in the kitchen of her first childhood home, Heather’s mother had explained about the loss of her sister, Holly, and how lucky she had felt in the following years not to have lost them both.

Lucky Heather had been Amber’s quick, brief comment on the tragic story, and ever since, Heather had been known as Lucky. Even her mother had adopted the nickname for her. Lucky considered, over the years, that she had been given all the unused love she would have otherwise shared with a sister. Beheld in that light, the nickname seemed to have more meaning than ever before, and she felt an isolated gratitude.

Absorbed in thoughts of time past and hereafter - imaginary memories of a far different childhood; her unfortunate mother’s grief; impossible futures, where she attended tonight’s party with her departed sister - Lucky failed to notice that her walk down the Greenside Path had taken much longer than it normally would have. It was only when her music abruptly gave out, that she realised something was out of the ordinary. How long have I been walking for? The cessation of her music suggested that she now had no way of finding out. Past the point where light, or sound, could make its way from the city across the tree line, Lucky no longer had any view of town beyond the impenetrable woodland. The gravel-strewn path was solely lit by lampposts, spaced unsettling distances apart, with unreasonable stretches of total black in between. Sunset had concluded some time ago; All Hallow’s Eve was wholly underway. Registering that she now had no way to make contact with Amber - or anyone - Lucky chose to press on along the path, which continued down.

I can’t even use my torch, she lamented.

A soupy mist descended as she traversed the downhill terrain, made visible only by the radiance of the increasingly infrequent lights. Suddenly ahead, Lucky made out a silhouetted form against the glow of the nearest lamppost, that she inferred to be another person. Picking up her pace, she called out nervously, “Hello? I think I might have gotten lost!” There was no response. The figure stayed completely fixed and Lucky wondered if maybe she was shouting at some artwork or sculpture that had been erected on the path. Her pace slowed as she got nearer to the shape, and she repeated her call for assistance. Nothing. Lucky was now only a few feet from the silhouetted character, the thick fog making any kind of measurement a significant struggle. Tremulously, Lucky greeted the figure once more, to no reply. Suddenly, the mysterious being twitched into life, forcing Lucky to step back sharply, losing her footing and subsequently falling backwards. Her arms reached out behind her; she caught herself from landing totally flat on her back, and felt the sting from gravel on the path digging into her palms. Lucky looked up anxiously at the figure, expecting it to advance. Instead, it began to step back from her, and into the light.

Instantly, Lucky recognised the face of this… person? She knew every detail of it, even through the dark, misty air that obscured the streetlight… because it was her face. This thing resembled her almost exactly, right down to the clothes she had on. The main distinction between them was the physical (and malodorous) impression that this monstrosity had recently fought its way out of a burning building - after having died in the blaze. Although she wanted to scream, the only sound she made was a startled croak. Lucky retreated from the unthinkable creature on her hands, and eventually clambered to her feet. She quickly glanced at her palms, which were scuffed and had retained some smaller pieces of gravel, but were not bleeding. Dusting them off, she looked up, to see the creature do precisely the same thing, like some perverse reflection, or imitation. Despite her most primal instincts shrieking at her to turn and run, Lucky couldn’t deny her compulsion to stand fixed on the spot, staring straight into the face of this mirror image of herself. Is this my sister?

Lucky’s doppelgänger looked up from its hands with an unnatural, exaggerated look of sadness. It was like witnessing some undiscovered animal, one that had learned to impersonate a human being… poorly. Suddenly, the creature attempted a smile - which was the single most disgusting and unsettling moment Lucky had ever experienced - then outstretched its arms, as if offering an embrace.

You can never escape your past, Heather.

Madame Orphic’s words resounded in Lucky’s mind.

The hell I can’t, she thought. Lucky turned and began out-and-out sprinting. She couldn’t remember the last time she had tried to run so fast. The steep incline made it hard to retreat back up the path, and she was so breathless that there wasn’t energy enough for her to express or even direct a moment’s attention to any of her turbulent emotions. As she passed quickly under the lights and through the inordinate periods of blackness between, she believed she could hear the rhythmic throb of traffic, and life, and safety - though more likely, she thought, it was her own heartbeat racing in her ears. I just need to get back into town.

Lucky ran until she almost fell over, gravel and leaves crunching beneath her feet, and noticed the lampposts becoming less intermittent. Completely spent, she resorted to walking until she regained some energy. Above the treetops, light pollution from the city became discernible, and made it feel reassuringly within reach. Looking back for the first time since the encounter, Lucky determined that she wasn’t being followed, and released a belated guttural sound… somewhere between a sigh and a sob. Mist persevered in both directions, scattering the still-insubstantial streetlight, but she thought up ahead she could make out a signpost - a sure sign of retuning to civilisation. Listlessly picking up into a slow jog, she felt she had still not quite recovered from her Olympian effort to escape. Seconds away from reaching the signpost, Lucky perceived a shape preceding it…

A person!

She called out, exasperated and bone dry - her voice barely more than a shrill rasp, but this person had heard her. The figure turned to face Lucky, who felt the purest relief of her life… but only for a moment. Lucky’s final thoughts were of Madame Orphic’s tarot reading, flooding back in its entirety; The Hermit, reversed… disconnection to the world. The Hanged Man… associated with surrender. The World, reversed… a fear of incompletion. The Tower… embodies sudden endings. The Ace of Swords, reversed… memory loss, misjudging a situation. The Six of Cups, reversed… you’re ready to let go. Lucky hadn’t been warned about The Unwelcome Visitor, but they had come, just as Madame Orphic had foreseen. If Madame had only been slightly more insistent; if she had encouraged her client to think more deeply about her past, rather than running uncomfortably from it, perhaps that poor girl might’ve remembered fully. That poor girl’s mother had been expecting triplets, not twins, and now all three - Heather, Holly… and Hazel - were reunited, eternally.