Madam Zorosa sat behind a rickety table with a sullenly uncooperative crystal ball between her fingers, while giggling teenage girls held hands and wanted to know about their love lives.
Suddenly, the crystal awoke to a sulphurous glow, and displayed the face of that we all dread, smiling his cadaverous smile and holding his scythe aloft.
Zorosa was sure it foretold imminent death for one of the children before her and felt a little pity, but she spun them the bright fairytales they craved and sent them away happy.
The pain in her breast was sharp.
Death chuckled. “Wrong conclusion.“