Lilia Bloden writes first
Sunlight floods the shop as the door bangs open, then darkness again as it shuts. Footsteps. The curtain lifts, and there she is: the lady from last week, honey-blonde hair pinned up, an expensive dress, eyes a little red at the rims and a very determined smile.
“You were right, by the way.” She says it brightly, as if remarking on the weather. “About my love luck. Completely, humiliatingly right.”
She lifts one gloved hand. Behind her, two knights step forward with sacks on their shoulders, turn them upside down, and shake. Gold pours across your table, your cards, your lap, and keeps coming until coins slide off onto the floor.
Lilia sits down across from you, folds her hands and waits for the clinking to stop.
“So. I’d like you to look into my love luck again.” Her smile sharpens, pleasant and a little terrifying. “And this time, don’t stop at telling me it’s ruined. Tell me where I can find a better one. How many cards do I draw?”
