Betrayal of the Heart

I had read for her once, near the fountain in the Great Square. I had told her what her future would hold. I had told her that it held betrayal. Again the cards were right, not that they are ever wrong.

Ruby Red, Quinn, Silas the pit, all dead with only a word from the man that owns me. All dead because a slave dared to love. All dead because they allowed emotions to override their common sense.

Never in my life have I seen such carnage. Blood seemed to seep through the cracks of the walls and I thought that I would never be able to make it stop, the more I cleaned, the more blood that seemed to come. My hands are dyed red, stained with the essence of those I once knew.

He had whipped her earlier that day, until she had at last admitted that he was her Master. Perhaps the Master of her flesh, but not her heart. I had applied ointment to her back and offered her food, but she would not eat. She was a defeated slave, a broken slave. A woman without hope. One that did not wish to live with out the man she had come to adore.

Though I know I held no power over the ominous inclusion of what I told her would come, I have to wonder if somehow, in the back of her mind, she remembered my words and that is what spurred on the action towards the path she took. Had I refused to read her future, would it have turned out differently? Is there a link between what is told, and what is to come? Can that link be severed?

I shall not read for a slave again, at least not what lies in their future.