Nine Hours E-Book

Stefanie Engl

• Herausgeber: via tolino media
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Experience the thrill of new love all over again. Nine hours to see. Nine hours to know. If life opened a window that revealed the threads of your fate and the paths to your freedom, which path would you choose? Laura, a passionate travel journalist, faces exactly this choice. Her life, a relentless pursuit of success and recognition, is thrown into turmoil when a fateful encounter in Paris opens her eyes. Suddenly, Laura finds herself in a whirlwind of perilous possibilities, each step a courageous leap into the unknown. Dive into an ode to love and life, full of decisions and the quest for true happiness. Discover which path Laura chooses and how a single decision can paint life in new colors. From the vibrant streets of Paris, across the expanse of Europe, to intimate moments of self-reflection – this book invites you to explore the complexity of life and the beauty of the unpredictable. This contemporary romance novel tackles humanity's eternal questions of destiny and free will, embedding them in a story that is both timeless and refreshingly current. With a light, modern tone, "Nine Hours" makes profound themes accessible and offers a unique perspective on the challenges and joys of seeking love, meaning, and personal happiness in our world today. It’s a novel that not only entertains but also invites reflection on your own life paths and choices. When fate knocks on your door, will you dare to open it? Read now and join Laura on her extraordinary journey through the light and shadows of life, in search of a destiny only she can choose. "Nine Hours" transports you to a world full of hope, love, and decisive moments – a story that not only inspires and touches but also shows how a single decision can change the entire canvas of life.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

 

Prologue

Laura

Larry, Vic und Sam

David

Antonio

Noah

Interlude

Marc

Laura

Copyright © 2024 Stefanie Engl

All rights reserved.

Independently published

Berlin

Dedicated to all those who are searching – for their path, for some hope. And with gratitude to all who have accompanied me on this journey, helped, and endured with me.

PROLOGUE

Who are we, truly, beyond the facades we present in our daily lives? Who is it that stares back at us when we look into the mirror, seeking the depths of our being? And in what ways have our interactions with others molded us?

Each of us starts life as a blank slate, an open book awaiting the imprint of our life's experiences. Driven by needs and expectations, we ponder what it is that truly shapes us. Is it merely the accumulation of our experiences, or is there a deeper essence that defines who we are? What is left when we reflect on our past?

This book in your hands is imbued with such contemplations, exploring the limitless potentials of life and how our choices can steer us down divergent paths. 'Nine Hours' emerged during a period of my life when I was intimately entwined with the universal themes of destiny and self-discovery – a mirror to my struggles and those universally faced. It was a time marked by illness and burnout, precipitated by being trapped in situations where I lacked freedom and was surrounded by people who were detrimental to my well-being. Caught up in the daily grind, pursuing desires that were not genuinely mine, I often felt as though I had veered off the correct path. Suddenly, I found myself lost in a maze, searching for an exit I could not find.

In 'Nine Hours', a spark ignited in my darkest moments gives rise to a protagonist who faces unforeseen transformations while striving to stay true to herself – an eternal battle, akin to those experienced by each one of us.

During this challenging period, when even rising each day was a struggle, the globetrotting heroine of 'Nine Hours' materialized in my mind – a beacon of hope that pierced through my gloomiest days. Perhaps, it is our fantasies and the narratives we craft about ourselves and others that constitute our most precious treasures. These stories might be the very foundation that propels us forward, providing strength to persevere through our toughest trials. Reflecting on my descent into the labyrinth led me to confront universal dilemmas that touch each of our lives: Is our destiny preordained, or do we possess the autonomy to forge our own paths?

Where do you find yourself in this inquiry? Do you perceive your life as being self-directed, with you at the helm, or do you feel at times as though you're being manipulated by unseen forces, like a marionette guided by fate? This perpetual conflict with destiny, the concept of predestination, and our role in the grand scheme of existence has captivated humanity since ancient times. Consider the Norse myths, where the Norns spin the fate of mortals at the World Tree, or ancient Greece, where the Moirai controlled each person's destiny. Over two millennia ago, Sophocles recounted the tale of Oedipus, who, in his attempt to evade a prophecy, unwittingly fulfilled his foretold destiny.

These narratives are more than just relics of the past; they resonate with a dialogue that persists in our hearts and minds even today. The concepts of fatalism and determinism might seem daunting at first, but they are fertile grounds for discussion (should you ever find yourself at a loss for conversation topics, simply bring up one of these theories). Briefly, fatalism is the belief that a specific destiny is inevitable, regardless of the routes we might take to reach it. Determinism, conversely, posits that the entire trajectory of our lives is shaped by preceding events and actions.

In the contemporary context, Jean-Paul Sartre emphasizes the importance of personal choice and accountability, advocating the idea that we are each free to forge our destinies. Dostoevsky explores this notion in 'The Brothers Karamazov,' where, within the framework of a crime story, he confronts his characters with these very dilemmas: Are we truly the architects of our own happiness, or are we merely moving to the rhythms dictated by a higher power?

I, too, often find myself navigating these two realms. There are moments when I feel in complete control of my destiny, and others when I seem to be swept along by unseen forces. Yet, regardless of the direction I choose, it seems to incorporate elements of both perspectives.

Now, I pose to you: If life were to offer you a glimpse through a window, revealing the strands of your fate and the open avenues of your freedom, which path would you choose? 'Nine Hours' invites you to ponder this question not only through its protagonist but also in the context of your own life – a decision that, like our protagonist, you must arrive at independently. Would you courageously seize control of your destiny, or prefer to surrender to the unpredictable currents of fate?

'Nine Hours' presents you, the reader, with a unique opportunity. It beckons you on a voyage of discovery, where you dictate the unfolding of the story, mirroring the choices that sculpt our lives. This book, however, also empowers you to make your own decisions. 'Nine Hours' encourages you to navigate its pages in your own way. With a fixed beginning and end, the sequence in which you explore the chapters is yours to determine, reflecting the interconnected experiences that compose the tapestry of our existence.

My hope is that Laura's journey resonates with you, stirring reflection, and perhaps even inspiration. And maybe, within it – and Laura – you will recognize a fragment of yourself. As you turn each page, I invite you not only to immerse yourself in a reflection of experiences and thoughts but also to uncover the intricately woven web of connections that unifies the universe of this story. Should you believe you've unraveled the mystery of how all these threads interlink, I eagerly await your interpretation of the narrative.

So, take your time, savor each page, and may you discover in their reflections not just a mirror – or at the very least an intriguing companion – but also a challenge that broadens your insight and perception.

A heartfelt PS: I would be profoundly thankful if you could spare a moment to write a review, rate the book on your preferred social media platforms, or share it with your closest friends. Your support is invaluable in spreading Laura's stories to a wider audience and fostering a growing community of like-minded explorers.

LAURA

Dagaz

Ffffffffffllllllkikkkwhefaeriohaiwophfpawhfp… Laura lifted her fingers from the keyboard. She stared at the jumbled letters in front of her and sighed. How was she ever going to finish this article? Ever since she took the job at the publishing house, her assignments had become more and more trivial. Wasn't she the celebrated Newcomer of the Year just three years ago? Three years ago. Back when she was freelancing, traveling on her own, drifting like a leaf in the wind, writing only about what truly mattered to her. Back then, despite her freedom, having a stable job felt like a distant dream. Something inside her always told her she could only be a real journalist if she was permanently employed by a publisher. Nine months ago, that dream came true, but the reality felt different than she had imagined.

She let her gaze wander away from the screen, drifting into emptiness. A shadow, brief and fleeting, flickered across the table. "Laura ..." a voice broke through the haze of her thoughts. She blinked and recognized Marcel’s outline against the blinding sunlight, which gave him an almost tangible aura. His smile was warm and welcoming, the corners of his mouth lifting higher, forming small wrinkles around his eyes. Laura brushed one of her wild curls out of her face and lifted her gaze to meet his. Marcel's smile widened as he saw her still confused eyes. "Another cappuccino, Laura?" he asked, not taking his eyes off her. An unintentionally weary smile crossed her face, and she nodded in agreement.

Knowing her answer, he instantly turned to fulfill her request. Her eyes followed him. His movements were so gentle and confident, weaving effortlessly between the café's tables, avoiding every obstacle, yet always present in the moment, as if he were dancing to a silent rhythm all his own. His whole manner felt so open. He seemed light and free like a feather in the wind, in complete contrast to her current state. She sat like a lump of cement at her table, awkwardly trying to chisel herself into shape. Yet, she couldn't help but smile as he glided gracefully behind the counter.

Though they never talked for long, Laura felt like she knew him. Every time she was in town, she came here and sat in this café to write. Most days, Marcel was there, already waiting with a warm cappuccino for her without her needing to ask. She remembered the early days when Marcel's charming character first caught her attention. Had it truly been several years already?

Her turbulent existence and the life she chose, a colorful jumble of constant travel, seldom allowed for plans beyond a month. Amidst the whirlwind of her so-called life, she had found small sanctuaries like this café in Montmartre – hidden gems that anchored her, providing a sense of home. Paris, with its rare blend of big-city bustle and the locals' laid-back approach, always managed to lighten her spirit. And here in this café, with its charming view and Marcel, who would always wait for her with a ready-made cappuccino and croissant, undoubtedly became one of her most cherished havens.

Yet, outside these brief interludes of tranquility and comfort, a different reality loomed. Her career demanded meticulous scheduling; each day was orchestrated with precision. Without this structure, she would undoubtedly delve into chaos. Her true nature, perhaps even her true self, was a colorful jumble. And all this meticulous planning helped to tame that old, disorderly side of her. She instinctively glanced at her mismatched socks – a gentle reminder that her former self still lingered within her, not yet ready to depart.

Her gaze wandered to her phone. Ramon’s reminder email about the deadline still pulsed like a blinking timer. Her heart quickened, and that familiar sense of duty began to gnaw at her. But on the screen before her, the blinking cursor and lifeless sentences still stared back almost mockingly. No. She shook her head and closed the laptop, trying to ignore its taunting click that marked her temporary defeat. Adjusting her chair, she finally allowed herself a moment to look out into the world beyond.

The café had come alive, with almost every table taken. The pulsating vibrancy around her had gone unnoticed while she was lost in thought. Just two hours earlier, she had been alone with her musings in the morning’s quiet. Now, the air was charged with energy and the zest for life. The street scene before her unfolded in a colorful parade of locals and tourists alike, weaving a lively dance of activity and leisure on the cobblestones of Montmartre.

Laura flinched as Marcel's arm came into her view as he calmly and precisely placed the freshly made cappuccino in front of her. "Immersed as ever," he began, his face lighting up with an encouraging smile. "You know there's a life outside your thoughts?" he playfully quipped, his grin infectious. “Paris is more than just a place for stories. It's for living, experiencing. We French, we live for life, non?”

A somewhat resigned smile flickered around Laura's lips. "Thank you," she murmured, "and yes, you're right. But I still have a few days here ..." and her voice carried renewed determination. “Well, it's always a pleasure to have you here,” Marcel responded, keeping his eyes on her.

Suddenly, a bright laugh echoed nearby. Laura and Marcel simultaneously turned in the direction of the sound. Next to her, in the outdoor seating of the café, a woman took her seat, exuding an almost unattainable level of elegance. Her silky, smooth black hair perfectly framed her face, and her attire was what Laura considered the epitome of Parisian chic: an elegant blouse paired with impeccably fitting jeans and classic Prada loafers. Marcel, who shared a brief but familiar exchange with the woman that revealed a familiarity between them, now turned his attention back to the café. Laura gave her laptop a fleeting look before decisively shaking her head. Driven by curiosity, her gaze settled on the stranger next to her, now absorbed in her phone, irresistibly drawing Laura in.

Beside this embodiment of elegance, Laura suddenly felt visibly plain – her untamed curls and practical clothing starkly contrasting with the woman's impeccable style. Yet, she couldn't help but grin as she noticed the woman's fingers dancing across her phone's screen with remarkable speed, her expressions rich and vivid, bordering on theatrical. Laura found herself captivated, unable to look away from the stranger, mesmerized by her charisma and the seemingly perfect life she portrayed.

Then, the woman looked up from her phone. Their eyes locked. A silent moment passed, and Laura, only now realizing she had been openly staring, felt an awkward rush of embarrassment. The stranger, however, tilting her head slightly, smiled gently and said, “Dating apps – ça prend toujours tellement de temps, n'est-ce pas?”

Laura's heart momentarily stalled. “Vous parlez anglais?” she asked, her smile tinged with humiliation. The woman, with playful humor in her eyes, replied in English: “Dating apps – they take up way too much time, right?” Laura nodded in agreement, her mouth slightly open, still feeling a bit sheepish about her early staring.

The woman paused for a moment, as if she had picked up on Laura's discomfort, then rose and confidently approached Laura's table. “I'm Cécile. Pleased to meet you,” she introduced herself, extending her hand in a warm gesture. “Laura. The pleasure is entirely mine,” Laura replied, scratching her neck awkwardly.

With a coy lean forward, Cécile inquired, “So, my arrival made quite the impression, hm?” Her tone was light and teasing, devoid of any blame.

Laura blushed, casting her eyes aside shyly before cleverly shifting the conversation. “You and Marcel, you know each other?”

“Yes, we've had a few professional encounters. Our paths sometimes cross here.”

Nodding, Laura’s gaze momentarily drifted over her laptop. “This café seems to be brimming with stories.”

“Oh, definitely. It's like a treasure trove of tales,” Cécile leaned back casually, crossing one leg over the other. “Just like my life. Some cheerful, others sad, and some …” She paused, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “… are almost too amazing to be true.” Her laughter was infectious, and Laura, cheeks still flushed, was both captivated and a touch overwhelmed by Cécile's forthrightness.

“And what about you?” Cécile's intense eyes now settled on Laura; her curiosity barely veiled.

“Well, I might not beat your stories. I'm a travel journalist. This café’s my go-to spot for writing whenever I’m in Paris.”

“That sounds absolutely dreamy! Always on the move, discovering new places,” Cécile exclaimed, her enthusiasm evident. “It's been ages since I last left Paris,” she mused, her gaze wandering off momentarily.

Laura attempted to mirror Cécile's excitement, yet her eyes revealed a restrained joy.

Noticing the time, Cécile glanced at her elegant watch, letting out a soft sigh. “Time really does fly,” she noted, her smile turning contemplative. “I must be off. I have an appointment.” She paused, locking eyes with Laura. “I'm seeing Madame Astrid.”

“Madame Astrid?” Laura echoed, her eyebrows arched in surprise.

“Yes, she's an oracle. Just around the corner,” Cécile said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“An oracle? Like a fortune teller?” Laura couldn't help but sound slightly skeptical.

“Not just any fortune teller,” Cécile replied, a defensive undertone in her voice. “Madame Astrid's readings are … unconventional. She uses runes, and there's always some truth, something profound in what she says.” Her playful smile reappeared. “To me, she's a guiding light amidst life's chaos,” she said, standing up and checking her watch again. Then, with a cautious look, she added, “Why don't you join me? See for yourself.”

Laura glanced at her laptop, a frown deepening between her brows. The thought of the looming deadline lingered, followed by the question, “Visiting an oracle?” Dropping everything to visit a fortune teller felt impulsive, especially since she had always been skeptical about psychics and similar services. However, staying would only mean wrestling with her stubborn words. Maybe this detour could spark an idea for a new piece? Looking back at Cécile, the prospect of parting from her already felt a pang of unexpected wistfulness.

Cécile's gentle smile, which almost seemed as if she could read Laura's thoughts, offered reassurance. “There's no pressure. But who knows? Madame Astrid might just open a door you never knew existed, just like she did for me once.” A slight grin formed on Laura's face as she leaned firmly on the armrest, took a deep breath, and then nodded decisively. “Alright, I’m in.”

Cécile's face brightened. “I was hoping you'd say that! It's going to be an adventure, mon ami.”

∆∆∆

Leaving behind the vibrant heart of Montmartre, Cécile guided them to a more serene part of the district. Above, beige residential buildings towered, embellished with street art and blooms. Laura's attention drifted across these diverse exteriors, her mind wandering to the stories of those who had made their lives behind those walls. Cécile, momentarily lost in a work-related phone call while energetically gesturing, kept pace beside her. Though Laura could grasp only bits of the rapid French conversation, it was enough to redirect her thoughts to her own profession.

She had visited this city countless times, absorbing the Parisian air, allowing its ambiance to seep into her, and translating her impressions into stories. Her work, her pride, had taken her across the globe, fulfilling the dream she had tirelessly worked towards for years.

Laura was known for her distinctive point of view, her precise use of language, and her knack for simplifying complex topics, making them accessible and engaging. Always in search of fresh perspectives, she possessed a writing talent that had earned her several awards.

The thrill of exploration and the satisfaction of taking on new challenges had always fueled her passion. Sharing these discoveries with readers was only the cherry on top, making her achievements all the sweeter. But lately … her writing felt lackluster, like unsweetened pastries. Dull and flavorless. It seemed as though the spark that once animated her writing had dimmed to a mere shadow, now elusive in the spaces between her words. A sudden stabbing pain tightened her belly again.

Out of the corner of her eye, Laura noticed Cécile signaling – they had arrived. Before them stood an older residential building with a grand entrance gate, its shutters covered in ivy, lending it a dreamlike, weathered elegance. Cécile, with the familiarity of someone who had made frequent visits, punched a code into a keypad. A soft hum followed, and the imposing gate creaked open, revealing a quaint courtyard.

Stepping into it, the din of the city seemed to fade away, replaced by a dreamlike tranquility, a secluded peace that momentarily halted Laura's racing thoughts. At once she noticed a small fountain at the courtyard's heart, where sunbeams danced on the water, playing amongst the trickle of falling droplets. It was a moment of serene beauty that Laura wished she could linger in longer.

However, Cécile soon drew her attention to a discreet corner where a small staircase led down to a solid, ancient-looking door. The old copper knob added to the door's mystique, catching the soft light. A quaint wooden sign, adorned with a painted tree and rune signs, announced: “Madame Astrid.”

With an air of eager anticipation, Cécile beckoned, “Come, my dear,” and executed three precise knocks on the heavy door. Each knock resounded, setting the stage for an unknown adventure and sending a mix of apprehension and curiosity through Laura.

A deep, resonant thud shattered the momentary silence that followed. It wasn't the sound of footsteps but rather something solid striking wood. With each thud, the sound drew nearer. Laura held her breath as the noises stopped just beyond the door, followed by the unlatching of a chain. Slowly, the door creaked open, revealing a woman whose unassuming appearance belied her commanding presence. Laura studied her closely, noting an earthiness intertwined with an eccentric charm. Her silver-gray hair cascaded in untamed waves over her shoulders, and her face bore the marks of sage wisdom. Dressed simply yet adorned with jewelry bearing ancient Norse symbols – amulets and runes that gleamed on her neck and wrists – she exuded a timeless vibe. Over her attire, she wore a dark gray tunic, its embroidery echoing traditional folk patterns, complementing the cane she leaned upon.

Laura guessed the woman to be in her mid-60s. She stood steadfast in the doorway, her expression unchanging, yet her penetrating gaze locked onto Laura's with intensity.

Without uttering a word, Madame Astrid motioned for them to enter the dimly lit hallway, the sound of her cane echoing behind her. Laura paused, her mind a battleground of skepticism and burgeoning curiosity. She eyed the shadowy corridor, feeling a momentary hesitation. Beside her, the gleam of expectant joy in Cécile's eyes offered Laura a comforting sense of reassurance despite her doubts.

With a sigh and a bold step forward, Laura ventured into the dimly lit hall that unfolded before her. As her eyes adjusted to the subdued lighting, the outlines of ancient relics along the walls gradually came into focus. Rune-inscribed stones and enigmatic artifacts adorned the walls, each piece seemingly selected with care and purpose. With every step, Laura felt herself becoming more engulfed in a world reminiscent of ancient Norse sagas and Celtic legends. The air thickened, laden with the rich, earthy aromas of moss, herbs, and aged books.

Following their host into the kitchen, they entered a space where the ambiance of the hallway extended seamlessly. The furniture, simple and functional, was accentuated by intricate displays of Celtic knots, runes, and vibrant plants that seemed to watch over the space like silent guards.

The aroma in the kitchen was so intense that it nearly overwhelmed Laura. It wasn't unpleasant, but these were scents she had never before experienced in a residential home. The ambiance felt so deliberately crafted that it bordered on feeling artificial, Laura mused, her gaze sweeping curiously over the space's enigmatic charm. She and Cécile took their places at a sturdy oak table near the window, where a meager amount of light filtered through, casting playful shadows that seemed keen to contribute to the room's mystical air.

The scent of fresh tea approached Laura as Madame Astrid, with a tranquil grace, poured the steaming brew into three already prepared stoneware cups. A wave of tranquility washed over Laura. This simple act momentarily eased her tension, offering her a fleeting sanctuary amidst the day's unexpected turn.

When Madame Astrid finally turned to face them, her gaze fixed on Laura with a depth and intensity that made Laura pause involuntarily. “The lonely traveler,” she began suddenly, speaking in English at once. Her voice was soft yet carried a compelling echo through the room. Laura's eyebrows knitted together in a mix of surprise, confusion, and a touch of amusement as the words reached her ears. She found herself struggling to keep a composed expression, not wanting to appear disrespectful.

A hush fell over the room as Madame Astrid's intense stare remained fixed on Laura. “So alone,” she murmured, reaching out to take Laura's hand. The moment their hands touched, and the warmth of their skin mingled, the room began to blur before Laura's eyes. Her surroundings lost focus and dimmed into darkness. A monotonous beeping sound drew closer, surrounding her. Then, a sharp, clinical smell filled the air. Suddenly, recognition dawned on Laura: It was the beeping of the hospital room where her mother had breathed her last breath.

She saw her brother sitting in the corner. She felt the sting of their argument, their accusing words lingering in her throat as if freshly spoken. The chill of that day enveloped her once more – the piercing cold of loneliness that had settled in her heart and never truly left. A sharp, cramp-like pain coursed through her stomach. When she opened her eyes again, Madame Astrid was still there in front of her, now holding her hand with a tender, almost maternal touch. “The lonely traveler,” the oracle repeated. Laura's gaze flitted around the room, struggling to regain her composure. “Where … ?” she barely whispered. Madame simply shook her head, murmuring, “Shh, child,” as she gently rotated Laura's hand.

The fingers of the mystical lady glided over Laura's palm with calm yet determined persistence, exploring every line and curve. “Always in motion. Ah, forever fleeing from the inevitable truth,” Madame Astrid whispered, her searching eyes locked on the stories revealed by Laura's hands.

A sharp sting jolted Laura. Fleeing? The thought flashed through her mind, accompanied by an involuntary image of her laptop. She felt compelled to object, but the words of defense just stuck in her throat. Madame Astrid, still focused on Laura's hands, reached for a linen bag on the windowsill. She brought it momentarily to her face and began to murmur softly,

“Inn dýpsta auðmýkt ok virðing, ég biðja um forna visku steinanna,”

as she opened the bag and poured rune stones into her palm. Shadows from the window danced across the table, casting their play over the unfolding scene.

Madame Astrid's penetrating gaze met Laura's again, slicing through the dim kitchen as she placed six stones in a precise circle on the table, with another in the center. With deliberate, almost ritualistic movements, she touched each outer stone clockwise, murmuring, “Dagaz, Fehu, Nauthiz, Gebo, Sowilo, Ansuz … ” Upon touching the center stone, she whispered, “Perthro.”

Without averting her eyes from the runes, Madame Astrid explained: “A new beginning … ” She paused, “wealth, necessity, and resistance … partnership, the soul's bond... success alongside the art of communication … and finally, the wheel of fortune that binds us all.”

With focused care, Madame Astrid aligned the stones in a row, caressing them as if sensing their energies. Once again, her gaze focused on Laura:

“A path, immeasurably changeable, through space and time. The wheel of fortune turns endlessly, and you alone steer its course. Loneliness and flight will no longer define you, nor will the need for control weigh you down. Perthro – the wheel of fortune will guide you, yet the choice … ” She paused, choosing her words carefully, “the choice remains your destiny.”

Again, a deeper, throbbing pain stabbed at her belly. She swallowed, her throat dry. Straining, she managed to ask, “What do you mean?”

Madame Astrid's eyes, deep gray, sparkled. “Daughter of the Norns, traveler. The runes foretell a journey of great significance. Urðr, Skuld, and Verðandi are weaving your path, intertwining your fate with the threads of other souls, connecting you across time and space. Perthro has spoken to Yggdrasil, granting you nine hours to make your choice, nine hours to gain understanding. Afterward, its leaves will wither. Use this time wisely and choose your path with care. If you heed this wisdom and carefully weave your threads, the cold will leave your heart, and the urge to flee will no longer govern your steps.”

As Madame Astrid spoke, the shadows in the corners seemed to pulse with each syllable, filling the air with a palpable tension. Laura's heart raced; confusion swirled within her. “I …” She shook her head slightly, her focus captured by Madame Astrid's intense gaze, “I don't quite understand.”

Madame Astrid's expression shifted to one of mild impatience. “The day will enlighten you, my child,” she said, patting Laura's hand before releasing it with a graceful flourish.

The eccentric fortune-teller quickly gathered the stones again and turned to Cécile, as if the previous moment had simply vanished. Laura attempted to listen, but their French conversation eluded her grasp, slipping through like water. A chill breeze caressed her arm, yet the fresh air seemed unable to fill her lungs. She wrapped her limbs around herself, a sense of vulnerability persisting within. The fortune-teller's penetrating looks felt as if they were permanently etched into her memory. Her words continued to resonate in Laura's mind. “So alone…” Had the woman really said that? And all the cryptic references – “threads of other souls … through space and time, Perthro, the wheel of fortune, nine hours to understand…” – echoed in Laura's thoughts once more. Instinctively, her eyes searched for Cécile, seeking clarity, longing for the comfort of a friend and ally, but Cécile was fully absorbed in her discussion with Madame Astrid, seemingly oblivious to Laura.

Stepping out of Madame's apartment, the brightness of the Parisian day was a welcome sight for Laura. The fresh air finally filled her lungs, and her thoughts began to clear. Cécile, ever vibrant, draped an arm affectionately around Laura's shoulders. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds under the Parisian sun, now filled with curiosity as she looked at Laura. “So? How did you find your unexpected adventure?” she asked, her tone playfully teasing.

Laura stared at the pavement, contemplative. “I'm not really sure, Cécile. It was all so cryptic and intense…”

Cécile's laughter, bright and unfettered, filled the air. “Trust me, it feels that way for everyone at first. Just let the experience sink in; it will all start to make sense soon enough. I promise you.”

∆∆∆

Laura and Cécile embraced tightly before parting with one last smile and exchanging contact details. Watching Cécile's figure merge into the crowd of passersby, Laura felt an unexpected heaviness on her shoulders.

“What a surprising day … ” she mused, wandering through the city, lost in thought. Laura found herself startled by how persistently Madame Astrid's words echoed in her mind, as if she couldn't shake them. Although she had never put much stock in fortune-telling … Hadn't Cécile hinted at something similar earlier? The unfinished article also remained on her mind. Subtly, she sniffed her T-shirt, checking if the scent of herbs from Madame Astrid's kitchen might still be lingering on her clothes.

As she navigated the once-familiar city, everything seemed altered. The buildings appeared odd, the people around her unrecognizable. A peculiar void surrounded her, rendering her movements robotic, her steps without purpose. The bag carrying her laptop felt like a lead weight, pulling her down. Her shadow, stretching out behind her on the sidewalk, suddenly seemed to lag, mirroring the heaviness she felt inside.

Occasionally, Laura had experienced such moments of disconnect before. Moments when the world around her appeared in a different, unfamiliar light – like a sudden shift in perspective, where everything unexpectedly seemed different. Yet, the depth of feeling now was unlike anything she'd experienced before, an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

This feeling of not really knowing where she stood hit Laura hard, a stark contrast to the fullness of life she usually felt on her travels and in her job. A life marked by endless hours dedicated to learning, experimenting, and expressing herself creatively. All this had made Laura a sought-after journalist and photographer. Sharing these journeys with the world wasn't merely a profession – it was her passion, her true calling.

And yet, the subtle insinuations made by Madame Astrid, though not directly stated, cast a shadow over all that Laura had achieved. At this moment, her life’s work felt as if it were shrouded in mist, elusive and somewhat intangible. An all-too-familiar chill returned within her, bringing along a nagging sense that maybe there was some truth in Madame Astrid’s implications – a truth Laura hadn’t fully grasped or accepted but that had lingered within her for some time.

The loneliness of countless nights in foreign hotels, the constant cycle of packing and unpacking her bag, missed opportunities for romantic dinners, dwindling messages from friends, her mother's passing, and severed ties with her brother – all these memories now forcefully invaded her thoughts with overwhelming clarity.

The cramping pain in Laura’s stomach returned. This time, it was not a mere twinge but an intense stabbing sensation that pierced her body like a hot iron. Panic surged within her, as if an iron band constricted her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her legs began to shake, threatening to give way. Her breathing became labored and rapid. Suddenly, as though tapping into newfound strength, her legs moved her automatically, swiftly and without her direction. She sped past fences, people, trees, and houses. Her breathing turned rough and hurried, beads of sweat forming on her forehead, mingling with stray strands of her hair. The world around her turned into a blur; nothing seemed tangible anymore – not the bustling city nor the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind. Propelled by a fear that felt as if it would tear her apart, she ran. Everything appeared shrouded in a haze, intangible and surreal. She lost herself in the rhythm of her steps, in the fading grip of her consciousness. And then, abruptly and without warning, she stopped. Her feet came to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

She closed her eyes, her eyelids fluttering in the gentle sunlight, while her lungs desperately gasped for air. In that moment, it was just her and her breath, a moment of stillness amidst the chaos of her thoughts. The fury that had propelled her forward began to wane, its intensity diminishing until it vanished completely, leaving a profound emptiness in its wake. Laura’s heart rate slowed, yet each heartbeat felt heavier, each pulse a somber realization.

Her meticulously crafted life, shaped by countless sacrifices and unwavering dedication, had failed to provide the fulfillment she had anticipated. She had attempted to bridge the void within by throwing herself into adventures, continuous travel, and the exploration of distant lands. However, with the oracle’s veiled accusations echoing in her soul, she could no longer ignore the overpowering, gnawing rift within herself. She was no longer happy.

Forcing her focus on her breathing allowed the urgency of the moment to wash over her. Her heart slowed, tension easing with each breath, a layer shed with every exhale. Another deep inhalation, this one laced with resignation, was a quiet acknowledgment of new truths to herself.

Laura stood motionless, her focus drawn inward, her breath held in a suspended moment. With her eyes closed, she slowly inserted her hand into the pocket of her leather jacket, only to encounter something unexpectedly round and firm against her fingertips. At the moment of touch, the object sent a jolt through her. Reflexively, her fingers closed around the unfamiliar item, and she pulled it out and opened her eyes to examine it.

The bright sunlight revealed the silhouette of a rune stone. It was the stone that had been placed in the center during her reading – Perthro, the wheel of fortune. The rune sparkled in the sunlight, yet despite her focused gaze, she couldn’t comprehend why she was holding it, momentarily puzzled by its very presence in her hand. Her mind raced, trying to figure out how the stone could have ended up in her pocket. Had Madame Astrid secretly slipped it to her? Or was it Cécile’s doing?

But before her thoughts could spiral further into contemplation, before her mind could race into overdrive again, the sound of wheels on cobblestones snapped her back to the present. A young skateboarder, his wild curls escaping from beneath a sun-bleached hat, weaved seamlessly through the pedestrians. Laura noticed his outstretched arm just in time as he pressed a colorful flyer into her hand along with the stone.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---