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- Herausgeber: BookRix
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
When tarot reader Rahel Vega loses her livelihood in the ruthless streets of New York City, she turns to a new skill—a spell that lets her manipulate chance itself. With no other options, she uses it to win big at the casino, turning herself from a struggling spiritual guide into an overnight high-roller.
But after one spectacular win, a fellow gambler warns her of a professional player who vanished under mysterious circumstances after an eerily similar streak of luck. The story rattles Rahel—was it just a cautionary tale, or is there real danger lurking behind the glitz of the casino floor?
Determined to find the truth, Rahel follows the trail of the missing gambler. As the boundaries between fate, magic, and deception blur, she must master her abilities before she bets more than she can afford to lose. Because in this game, the odds aren’t just stacked against her—some players never get a second chance.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS’ GAME launches a gripping series where intuition, magic, and high-stakes danger collide—and where the right card can mean the difference between justice and oblivion.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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The High Priestess' Game
Table of contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A BEGINNING
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
A Note To Readers
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, when the world fell away and these characters first whispered their secrets to me, two people made it all possible.
To my husband, my anchor and compass—thank you for believing in this story even when it was nothing more than scattered notes and wild ideas. For the countless cups of coffee delivered to my desk, for taking our daughter to the park on Sunday mornings so I could chase these words, for never once suggesting that this dream was too big or too impractical. Your faith in me has been my most reliable muse.
To my daughter, my brightest light—thank you for understanding when Mommy needed "just five more minutes" that turned into hours. For drawing pictures of my characters and asking about them as if they were real friends. For teaching me that imagination is the greatest gift we possess. Your curiosity and wonder have inspired these pages more than you'll ever know.
The space to create is perhaps the most precious gift one can receive. In a world that demands our constant attention, you both carved out a sanctuary where this story could breathe and grow. This book exists because you gave me the greatest luxury: time.
For every missed dinner, for every bedtime story I couldn't read, for every weekend adventure I watched through photographs instead of experiencing firsthand—thank you for understanding that sometimes, to bring new worlds to life, I needed to disappear into one of my own.
These pages are my heart. But they are also, undeniably, yours.
With infinite gratitude,
A BEGINNING
Dear Reader,
The story you hold in your hands is not merely a single tale, but the first thread in a tapestry I've only just begun to weave. As you turn the final page of this novel, know that the journey is far from over—it is, in many ways, only beginning.
This book marks the first installment in a series that has lived in my imagination for years, characters waiting patiently in the shadows for their moment to step into the light. The world you're about to enter is vast, with histories untold and mysteries yet to be unraveled. While this story stands complete in itself, it also plants seeds that will bloom in volumes to come.
What makes this series particularly special to me is how it intertwines two passions that define my life. My deep connection to tarot—its wisdom, symbolism, and intuitive power—has been woven into the very fabric of these pages. As a professional tarot reader myself, I've poured years of experience and spiritual understanding into creating a protagonist whose gift for reading the cards reveals truths that others cannot see.
In crafting a tarot reader who solves murder cases, I've found a way to marry my spiritual practice with my love for crime fiction. The cards don't simply tell the future in these stories—they illuminate the shadows of human nature, expose buried truths, and guide our hero through the labyrinth of deception that surrounds each mystery.
I invite you to join me for what I hope will be a long and winding road. There are dark corners to explore, relationships to deepen, and secrets that even I am still discovering. Some faces you meet here will become old friends, others may surprise you as their true natures emerge across the series.
For those curious about tarot beyond these pages, I continue to offer personal readings through my practice. If you'd like to experience the cards' guidance in your own life, you can book a session at www.empowering-tarot.com.
Writing is an act of faith—faith that words on a page can transport us, transform us, and connect us across time and space. By beginning this series, I'm making a promise to you: there is more to come, more to discover, more to feel.
Thank you for taking this first step with me.
The adventure continues...
Chapter 1
The cards never lied, not when my spirit guides were present. I spread them upon the velvet cloth, each one falling with grim certainty beneath the amber light of the reading corner in my shop. My client—Melissa, twenty-seven, mascara smudged from prior tears—stared at them with the desperate hope of a drowning woman.
"I'm very sorry," I said, my fingertips hovering over the 7 of swords with its thief sneaking away in the night, "but I can't deliver better news. The man you're asking about... he's not coming back."
"That can't be right." Her voice cracked. "We had something special."
I touched the 3 of cups, then the 3 of swords—the involvement of another woman leading to heartbreak. "The cards are quite clear. And here—" I tapped the Hanged Man, that figure suspended in perfect surrender, "—this shows me you're not ready to move on."
The shadows behind Melissa's chair deepened, coalescing into Mister B.'s familiar form. His handsome face, stern as always, appeared first, followed by the spectral outline of his antiquated suit. He shook his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine with centuries of wisdom and irritation.
"Perhaps," I suggested, trying to soften the blow, "you might try finding a hobby, something to occupy yourself. Let go of the idea of finding a man this year."
Melissa's jaw set stubbornly. "He's my twin flame. I know it. This is just a test."
Mister B. rolled his eyes, making a dismissive gesture with his translucent hand. His impatience was palpable, rippling the air around him like heat over asphalt.
I sighed, knowing what came next. The twin flame narrative—every heartbroken client's favorite refuge.
"If this is a test on your twin flame journey," I said carefully, watching Mister B.'s approving nod, "then the universe is involving me to make the test harder, because I can't get any other answer, no matter how often I ask."
Her eyes widened, tears instantly drying. "That makes so much sense," she breathed. "Twin flame journeys are never easy. That's why they're so special."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Behind her, Mister B. pantomimed gagging.
"Thank you for telling me the truth," Melissa said, gathering her purse with renewed fervor. "That your cards are part of the universe's plan for us. I understand now."
"Of course," I murmured, rising to show her out. The bells on my door jingled a cheerful farewell that belied my sinking heart.
When she was gone, I collapsed back into my chair. "I like clients better when I'm actually able to help them," I moaned to the empty room—though it wasn't truly empty.
Mister B. solidified fully now, his presence causing the candle flames to flicker. He strode across the room with purpose, his footfalls making no sound on the wooden floor. He bent over my appointment book with exaggerated interest, as if he weren't a spirit who could simply know such things.
"Julia's coming in two hours," he announced gruffly, tapping a ghostly finger on the page. "Now there's a client worth your time. She actually takes your advice." He turned to me, his eyes softening slightly. "Her life's become better than she ever imagined since she started seeing you."
The tension in my shoulders eased somewhat. "I'm looking forward to seeing her," I smiled, grateful for the reminder that sometimes, my gift truly helped people.
Mister B. nodded, a rare half-smile crossing his stern features. "Just make sure you don't let these delusional romantics drain your energy." His voice carried the weight of someone who'd seen too many human follies across too many lifetimes.
I didn't tell him how each failed reading left me feeling hollow, how each client's disappointment chipped away at my confidence. He knew anyway. Spirits always know.
I reached for my tarot deck, intending to return it to its silk-wrapped sanctuary before Julia's appointment. The cards felt unusually warm beneath my fingertips, almost vibrating with energy. As I gathered them into a neat stack, they suddenly slipped from my grasp, scattering across the floor in a chaotic spray of images.
All except one.
The Tower remained on the table, face up, its terrible imagery stark against the dark wood. Lightning striking a fortress. Figures falling through empty space. Destruction. Catastrophe. Revelation through chaos.
"Very funny," I whispered, though my throat had gone dry. The card seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.
Mister B. was suddenly beside me, his presence making the air around us cold despite the incense-warmed room.
"You know this isn't a coincidence," he said quietly.
I swallowed hard. "I know."
The air felt suddenly thick, oppressive with sage and myrrh. The smoke from my incense burner no longer drifted in gentle spirals but hung suspended, as if time itself had slowed. I became acutely aware of how the scent had permeated everything—my clothes, my hair, the velvet cushions—cloying and sweet, yet unable to mask the metallic tang of fear now rising in my throat.
"It's been showing up for weeks now," I said, unable to take my eyes off the card. "Ever since before New Year's. I've tried to read for myself, to understand when..."
"And?" Mister B. prompted, though his expression told me he already knew.
"Tomorrow." The word fell from my lips like a stone. "The Tower falls tomorrow."
My intuition had always been my north star, guiding me through life's darkest passages. When clients sat across from me, their futures unfolded before my mind's eye with crystalline clarity. Their paths, their choices, their consequences—all transparent to me.
But when I'd tried to divine the nature of my own Tower moment, all I received was the Seven of Pentacles, reversed. Abandoned work. Delayed rewards. Wasted efforts.
"Everything I've built," I whispered, hugging myself as a chill ran through me that had nothing to do with Mister B.'s spectral presence. "My practice, my reputation, my home... what will I lose?"
"That's why you started reading cards, isn't it?" Mister B.'s voice was gentler than usual. "To never be surprised by what comes next?"
I nodded, remembering the frightened child I'd been, plagued by visions I couldn't control. Learning the cards had given structure to my gift, had transformed terror into talent.
"The not knowing..." I ran my finger along the edge of The Tower, feeling its ominous energy pulse against my skin. "I can't bear it."
A violent shiver ran through me as I stared at the painted flames, the crumbling battlements. Whatever was coming would shake the very foundations I'd so carefully constructed. I could almost hear the walls of my carefully ordered life beginning to crack.
"What if—" my voice caught, "what if I lose everything that matters?"
The cards on the floor seemed to watch me, silent witnesses to my fear. I'd spent my life telling others how to navigate their disasters. Now mine approached, and I felt like a fraud, a blind guide leading the blind.
Mister B. moved closer, his presence enveloping me like a cold embrace.
"The cards never tell us everything," he said. "That's the point."
I looked up at him, this spirit who had been with me through so much, and wondered what he wasn't telling me.
The air in my reading room suddenly thickened, not with incense this time, but with presence. The familiar chill that always announced spiritual visitors descended, prickling along my arms. I didn't need to turn around to know they had arrived. All of them.
"A family reunion," I whispered, straightening my spine as the temperature dropped further. "Should I be honored or terrified?"
They materialized gradually, like photographs developing in solution. First came the shimmering outline of Auntie, her posture impeccable as always, dressed in what appeared to be Victorian business attire, her spectral ledger clutched to her chest. She assessed the room with critical eyes, no doubt calculating the monetary value of my modest practice.
"You could charge more," she said by way of greeting, gesturing to my worn velvet tablecloth. "Quality commands premium prices."
Before I could respond, Ma appeared beside her, emotional energy radiating in waves that made the tarot cards on the floor flutter. Her expression shifted rapidly between concern and irritation.
"You're not eating enough," she declared, moving closer to inspect me. "I can tell. The spirits need a strong vessel."
"I had lunch," I protested weakly.
"A cup of tea is not lunch," Ma retorted, raising her hand as if to deliver one of her famous spiritual slaps, then dropping it with a sigh. "How many times must I tell you?"
Mister B., who had been hovering near my calendar, crossed his arms and fixed me with his characteristic impatient stare. "She doesn't listen to any of us, you know that."
And then, last to materialize but most commanding in presence, Grandpa appeared. Unlike the others who retained the appearance they'd had in life, Grandpa was more essence than form. Ten thousand years of existence had distilled him to pure archetypal energy, ancient wisdom wrapped in a vaguely humanoid shape that occasionally resembled an elderly man with eyes that had seen the rise and fall of countless civilizations.
"The gangs all here," I said, attempting levity despite the knot in my stomach. "What's the occasion? Did I miss a spiritual holiday?"
Grandpa moved toward me, his presence bringing a peculiar calm that contradicted the anxiety churning inside me. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, like wind through ancient stones.
"The Tower has been calling to you, child," he said, gesturing toward the card that still lay face-up on my table. "And now we come to stand beside you."
"Because something terrible is going to happen," I said, hating the tremor in my voice.
Grandpa's form shifted slightly, becoming more defined, more present. He settled into the chair across from me, the one where my clients usually sat.
"Your path is about to fork, Rahel," he said, his tone gentle yet heavy with knowledge that weighed on my heart. "The journey you have walked thus far has prepared you, though you may not feel ready."
"Prepared me for what?" I leaned forward, hungry for specifics, for anything concrete to hold onto.
"For transformation," he replied, the word hanging in the air between us. "Your life's route will change, as surely as rivers change course after great floods."
"That's not very specific," I muttered, glancing at the Tower card again.
Grandpa's expression remained serene. "The storm comes for us all, in different forms, at different times. Yours approaches now."
"Great," I said, attempting sarcasm but achieving only vulnerability.
"Listen well," Grandpa continued, his form now fully solidified, more present than I'd seen him in years. "After every storm, no matter how violent, the sun will shine again. You will emerge stronger, your life fuller than before."
"That's what I tell my clients," I whispered.
"Because it's true," Grandpa said simply. "The Tower doesn't just destroy—it clears away what no longer serves, making room for what must come next."
"Even if it hurts like hell?" I asked.
Ma interjected, moving to stand behind Grandpa. "Especially then. Pain teaches what comfort cannot."
"And business opportunities often arise from chaos," Auntie added pragmatically. "The universe rarely closes a door without—"
"Opening a window, yes, I know the clichés," I interrupted, immediately regretting my sharpness. "I'm sorry. I just... I'm scared."
Grandpa nodded, understanding in his ancient eyes. "Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. It is not weakness to tremble before the storm."
"What storm?" I pressed, gathering my courage and stepping toward Grandpa. "Please, I need to know what's coming. The Tower and the reversed Seven of Pentacles—they point to something specific, don't they?"
Grandpa's eyes, those fathomless pools of accumulated wisdom, seemed to look through me rather than at me. "Some knowledge is best discovered in its proper time."
"That's not fair!" My voice cracked with unexpected emotion. "You can't just appear here with cryptic warnings and expect me to wait helplessly for disaster. I help others see what's coming—why can't I have the same courtesy?"
Ma shook her head, the movement causing ripples in her ethereal form. "Child, some futures must unfold at their own pace."
"Tell me!" I slammed my palm against the table, sending the Tower card fluttering to the floor. "Please," I added, softer now. "I've spent my life preparing others. Let me prepare myself."
Auntie stepped forward, her businesslike demeanor softening briefly. "The preparation you seek would only cloud your judgment when clarity is most needed."
"That's not your decision to make," I argued, desperation clawing at my throat.
Mister B. remained silent, arms crossed, watching the exchange with uncharacteristic patience.
"We protect you as we always have," Grandpa said, his form already beginning to fade at the edges. "Trust the journey, Rahel. Trust yourself."
"Grandpa, wait—" But he was dissolving like smoke in a breeze, his ancient eyes the last to vanish.
Ma followed next, pressing her hands together as if in prayer before she disappeared. Auntie gave me a crisp nod, practical even in her departure, before fading into nothingness.
Only Mister B. remained, his perpetual scowl softened into something that might have been concern.
"You too?" I asked, my voice small.
"Not yet." He moved toward me, his spectral form somehow more solid than the others had been. "They mean well, you know. Old souls tend to be cryptic; they forget what it's like to fear the unknown."
I sank into my chair, suddenly exhausted. "And you don't?"
"I remember fear," he said simply. "I remember how it tastes."
"Then help me," I whispered.
Mister B. came closer, his presence cooling the air around us. "I can't tell you what's coming. But I can tell you this—whatever comes, I'll be right beside you. Not floating above dispensing wisdom, but in the trenches with you."
He leaned down, and I felt the whisper of coldness as his lips pressed against my forehead—a ghost's kiss, barely perceptible yet profoundly real.
"Everything will be okay, Rahel," he murmured against my skin. "I have your back. Always have, always will."
Before I could respond, he too began to fade, his fierce eyes lingering like twin stars before winking out completely.
I sat alone in my reading room, the scent of incense now cloying rather than comforting. The Tower card lay face-up on the floor where it had fallen, its burning edifice and falling figures a silent harbinger of what awaited me tomorrow.
Whatever storm approached, I would face it alone—except for the invisible guardians who refused to tell me what I needed to know. I pulled my cardigan tighter around my shoulders, trying to shake the coldness that had settled in my bones. The unknown yawned before me like an abyss, and despite a lifetime of peering into others' futures, I had never felt more blind about my own.
Chapter 2
The scent of dragon's blood and sandalwood threaded through my fingers as I arranged the small glass jars on the shelf. Each one clinked against the next, a sound that should have brought comfort—ritual, routine, the ordinary music of my little sanctuary. But not today. Today, my hands trembled.
"The Tower," I whispered to no one. "It comes today."
The cards had been clear three nights in a row. Lightning striking the stone spire, figures falling through darkness, everything crumbling. I'd shuffled and reshuffled, hoping to coax a different future from the worn deck, but the Tower persisted, its destruction unavoidable.
I placed a jar of myrrh on the top shelf, missing the mark slightly so that it teetered at the edge. My mind was elsewhere—wondering what form the catastrophe would take. Financial ruin? Illness? Death? The Tower never specified; it only promised change through necessary demolition.
"You're being ridiculous, Rahel," I scolded myself, adjusting the jar before it could fall. "Perhaps it simply means the shelf will collapse."
But the hollow attempt at humor died in my throat. Fifteen years of reading fortunes had taught me to respect the cards' messages. They didn't waste warnings on trivial matters.
My gaze drifted to the front window where morning light cast fractured rainbows through the hanging crystals. The street outside was quiet for a Thursday. Perhaps disaster would arrive as absence—no customers, no income. I'd had slow weeks before, but something in my bones told me this was different.
I lifted another box of incense—frankincense from Oman, expensive but worth every penny for its purity. The sweet, resinous scent normally cleared my mind, but today it felt cloying, almost oppressive.
The bell above the door jingled, and I startled, nearly dropping the delicate glass container in my hands. I turned, expecting Mrs. Finch for her weekly reading, or perhaps one of the university students who came for meditation supplies.
Instead, Mr. Goldstein's stooped figure filled the doorway, his shadow stretching across the worn floorboards like an omen.
"Mr. Goldstein," I said, forcing brightness into my voice while my stomach twisted. My landlord rarely appeared unless something was wrong. "What a surprise."
He removed his hat—an old-fashioned courtesy he never abandoned—revealing wisps of white hair that clung to his scalp like the last leaves of autumn. "Good morning, Rahel."
"It's been months," I said, setting down the incense and wiping my hands on my skirt. "Is everything all right with the building?"
His eyes didn't quite meet mine as he glanced around the shop, taking in the shelves of crystals, the wall of herbs in glass jars, the little reading nook with its velvet-draped table where I conducted my sessions. Something in his gaze felt like goodbye.
"The pipes are holding up?" I continued, filling the silence that stretched between us. "I noticed the water pressure's been a bit low in the apartment."
"Yes, yes, everything is fine with the building," he said, but there was a heaviness to his words that belied their meaning.
The Tower card flashed in my mind—lightning, falling bodies, destruction. I swallowed hard.
"Would you like some coffee?" I offered, gesturing toward the back room where my small hot plate stood. "I just made a fresh pot. Or tea, if you prefer. I have a new jasmine blend that's quite lovely."
My hands wouldn't stop trembling. I clasped them together, trying to still the tremor. Mr. Goldstein had always been kind to me—keeping my rent stable when the neighborhood began changing, ignoring complaints from other tenants about the "strange smells" from my incense and herbs, even attending my grandmother's funeral seven years ago. She had been the one to sign the original lease, back when the neighborhood was considered undesirable.
He cleared his throat, looking at the worn floorboards rather than my face. "No coffee today, thank you."
The bell jingled softly above the door as a breeze swept through the shop, stirring the hanging dried herbs and setting the wind chimes to a discordant melody. In that moment, I knew—this man was the harbinger of my Tower moment, and whatever he had come to say would change everything.
"I'm afraid I have some... difficult news, Rahel," Mr. Goldstein said, tugging at his collar. His fingers left damp impressions on the crisp white fabric. "You know I've always valued you as a tenant. Fifteen years is a long time."
The copper taste of fear flooded my mouth. "Has something happened?"
"The neighborhood is changing." He gestured vaguely toward the window where, across the street, a boutique selling hundred-dollar candles had replaced the old hardware store just last month. "Property values have tripled. My accountant says I've been... well, charitable is the word he used."
I clutched the edge of the counter, my knuckles whitening. "Mr. Goldstein—"
"I've leased the storefront and seminar room to a new business." The words tumbled out in a rush. "An artisanal pizzeria. Wood-fired. They're willing to pay four times what you're paying now."
The room tilted. Jars of herbs blurred before my eyes as if underwater.
"A pizzeria?" My voice sounded distant, as if belonging to someone else. "But... my shop. This is my life."
He wouldn't meet my gaze, his eyes darting to the crystal ball on the counter, the tarot cards arranged in their velvet-lined box, anywhere but my face.
"I've given them a firm move-in date. Sixty days." He pulled an envelope from his jacket. "It's all here, the formal notice."
"No." The word emerged as a whisper, then louder: "No. Mr. Goldstein, please. I've been here fifteen years. My grandmother before me. We've never been late with rent, not once."
"I know, I know." His discomfort was palpable, his shoulders hunched with shame or perhaps just the burden of delivering bad news. "That's why I'm offering you options."
"Options?" I repeated hollowly.
"You can stay in your apartment. I won't evict you from your living space. Not until you find somewhere else." He shuffled his feet. "Or..."
"Or?"
"You could match their offer. For the whole space." He finally named a figure that made me physically recoil.
"That's impossible," I whispered. "It's more than four times what I pay now."
"The market determines the price, not me." His voice hardened, retreating behind the shield of business logic. "I've been too generous for too long. My children keep telling me I'm throwing away their inheritance."
I thought of my savings account, my meager retirement fund, the small inheritance from my grandmother that I'd been saving for emergencies. All of it together wouldn't cover six months at the new rate.
"Please," I said, hating the desperation in my voice. "This shop isn't just a business. It's a sanctuary for people. A place of healing."
Mr. Goldstein's eyes softened momentarily. "Your work has helped many people, I know. My wife still talks about how you helped her through her grief when her mother passed." He sighed, his resolve visibly wavering, then hardening again. "But sentiment doesn't pay property taxes, Rahel. I've made my decision."
He placed the envelope on the counter between us. The paper seemed to radiate a cold energy, like a cursed object.
"Sixty days," he repeated. "I truly am sorry."
As he turned to leave, I felt something break inside me—not my heart, something deeper, more fundamental. The foundation upon which I'd built my entire existence.
The bell above the door jangled as Mr. Goldstein left, its cheerful tone now a mockery. I stood frozen among the half-unpacked boxes of incense, the familiar scents of sandalwood and myrrh suddenly cloying and oppressive.
This was it. The Tower moment I'd sensed in my morning cards. Not some metaphorical upheaval or spiritual awakening, but the literal crumbling of the foundation beneath my feet.
"Sixty days," I whispered to the empty shop. The words hung in the air, heavy as a death sentence.
I sank onto my reading stool, legs suddenly unreliable. The envelope with its official notice lay on the counter, a white rectangle radiating destruction. In tarot readings, I'd explained the Tower card to countless clients—sudden change, painful revelation, necessary destruction. How easily I'd spoken of upheaval when it was happening to someone else.
"Well," I said to the air, "aren't you going to say something?"
The familiar shimmer began at the edges of my vision, like heat rising from summer pavement. First came the scent of pipe tobacco, then the faint outline of his weathered hands. Grandpa materialized in the chair across from me, his spectral form more solid than usual, concern etched into the lines of his transparent face.
"Oh, little Rahel," he said, his voice like wind through dry leaves. "I'm so sorry."
"You knew, didn't you?" My voice cracked. "You all knew this was coming. The cards kept showing the Tower, but I thought—" I gestured helplessly at the shop around us. "This is everything I've worked for. Fifteen years."
Other spirits materialized softly around us, their ethereal forms shimmering in the dim light—there was Ma, her presence warm and comforting, and Auntie, her figure exuding a gentle, familiar aura.
"After destruction comes renewal," Auntie said gently. "After the Tower falls, the Star rises."
I laughed bitterly. "What star? I'll lose my livelihood and my home in one blow. Everything I care about is here."
"Perhaps that's precisely the problem," Grandpa said, leaning forward. His pipe glowed though no smoke emerged. "You've created something beautiful here, Rahel, but beautiful things can become cages just as easily as sanctuaries."
"This isn't a cage," I protested. "This is all I've ever wanted."
"And that's exactly why you need to lose it," he replied, his eyes—still the same warm brown they'd been in life—fixed on mine. "You've been satisfied with what you have, content to stay within these walls. But life isn't meant to be static. A journey doesn't end because you've found a pleasant resting place."
"So I'm being punished for being content?" The unfairness of it stung.
"Not punished, my child. Redirected." Grandpa's form shimmered more intensely. "Change is necessary, even when it's painful. Especially when it's painful. Would you tell your clients that their Tower moments were punishments, or opportunities disguised as disasters?"
"That's different," I argued. "This isn't some relationship ending or job change. This is my home. My purpose."
