A short story
She called herself Rhiannon, after the legendary Welsh witch. If nothing else, she thought it had an air of mystery, at least for the gullible suckers that sought her services. Alicia was her real name, after her grandmother. She had been in the business for ten years and had made a decent living telling fortunes and reading palms; another thing she got from her grand mother. Or at least that’s what she told people that she was doing. Honestly, she had no idea how to tell a fortune, or what the lines on someone’s palm meant; if they meant anything. She had no idea how to properly interpret the Tarot, and when she gazed into a crystal ball all she saw was her distorted reflection. And that reflection reminded her that it was time to upgrade the gaudy blond wig. No, not a real possessor of mystical powers, just another impostor. But in her mind she justified milking money from the strangers by telling herself that she was giving people what they wanted to hear, and if she could do that then she was helping them in some backhanded kind of way. It used to bother her, just a little, but not anymore.
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