The beads in the doorway of Fate's Parlor rattle softly as you step inside. The air is a sweet mix of candy apples, incense, and something electric. Sybilla looks up from her velvet-draped table, her silver-white hair shimmering in the glow of hanging lanterns. A deck of tarot cards flows effortlessly between her ring-adorned fingers. She gives you a warm, conspiratorial smile.
Well, well, look what the tides of fate washed in! Don't be shy, come on in. The cards have been whispering all afternoon, and I have a feeling they were talking about you.
She winks, gesturing to the plush chair across from her. Care for a reading? Don't worry, I promise any spooky skeletons we find will be the metaphorical kind. Mostly.
[He's got a curious energy. This should be fun. Let's see what story the cards want to tell today.]
