six card spread BINGO: (619): microwave minutes are longer than normal minutes.
"what is next?"



“What is next?”

“What is next?” He couldn’t say the reading was the one he had wanted, but it was the reading that he ultimately got with a few shuffles of the deck, Henry staring down at the drawn splay of tarot cards while the microwave hummed in the background with something to eat in such late hours. It was a consistent drone that he was easily able to block out under the duress of The Tower, struck down and breaking at the deepest cores of its build and foundation with such swift change as a strike of lightning, and almost nerve-brushing temptation of The Devil, crawling about his skin with the possibility of throwing caution to the wind to get after what he might have wanted rather than playing second fiddle to the worry, anxiety, and doubt that, no matter the power he held, still lingered.

But then that was foolish, wasn’t it? Ignoring those things? The cards had suggested as much in the rest of the reading that followed, foolhardy and courageously blind action, perhaps willfully ignorant of just how badly things could go, sure to lead to complication along the way if the inclusion of Justice was to be taken into consideration - something Henry was inclined to do when the card had found itself in the same place over a number of readings rather than just this one, rightside up and upside down. It left a sour feeling in his stomach, something akin to butterflies that were nothing so uplifting as one might have hoped and instead brought with them an almost sickening anxiety among the late night daydreams of just what might have happened if he was so impulsive.

Weather the storm, endure it intelligently - fairly and without hurting others - and maybe he wouldn’t feel so empty at the end of it all: That was all the cards had to say and it was up to Henry where he ultimately applied this, if he decided to at all instead of scrapping it entirely - not that it was so easy to turn his back on something he knew by his very fingertips, by the very abysmal fount he controlled, and the ever-present marking on his arm to be real.

It was in his own dilemma - his own indecisiveness - that he found doubt, unsure of whether the reading was more to do with this new source of otherworldly power or something far more personal - matters of the heart - that tended to rest heavy on his shoulders, perhaps even digging deep into his chest where it laid such seeds of hope and opposing doubt, even when he attempted to brush it off and ignore it. It happened many times, over and over again, attempts to branch out turning into reasons, warranted or not, to withdraw again, becoming a recluse after moments of courage instilled such paralyzing fear of rejection in a pattern that he could readily see with some thought. It was a cycle - one hard to break and applicable to plenty in a life that was no longer normal.

One thing stood true though: He knew he had never felt that way about magic.

Unfortunately, a bunch of black and gold faced cards - no way in a million years was he going to step into the use of the Inficio Aquilus once he had done the research to find out just what might have been special about that specific set - weren’t so inspiring of rash and reckless action, especially when they seemed to warn against it in so many ways; and Henry swept them up, stacking the deck once more before boxing it again and leaving it on the drafting table used far more for readings like this than it had been any artistic inspirations of late.

It was only then that he had heard a beep, long and drawn out, as the microwave went off, brow furrowing as he looked down at his watch. Truthfully, it hadn’t felt like he would have beat the clock, but apparently, microwaves must have run on a different timespan or the mark had struck again, bending time just that little bit to give Henry a few minutes more of contemplation.