Shiralee gazed out the tower window onto the lush valley below. How long had it been since she had walked among the verdant fields and tangled forests? Many, many years ago—before she had apprenticed the previous tower witch.

The tower witch was no ordinary witch. No, the tower witch assisted the Goddess and her avatar the Autumn Queen in tracking and tallying the fate of the Goddess’s worshipers. Using the tower’s mirror-plated ceiling, the tower witch sent her gaze far and wide, reading the fate of everyone her magical gaze saw. Then she wove everyone’s fate into massive tapestries. At the end of each season, the Autumn Queen visited the tower witch and collected the completed tapestry to present to the Goddess.

The tower witch lived in an impossibly high tower that none could enter unless they bore the magic of the tower witch. If someone possessing such magic approached the tower, steps would appear along the outside of the tower. However, these steps could only be ascended and disappeared once the person entered the tower, so none could ever leave. And none could escape the steps once they began the ascent.

Yet no one bearing the magic of the tower witch had approached the tower since Shiralee had stumbled upon it while hunting for melissa herbs so long ago. So Shiralee had seen none but the Autumn Queen in the many years since the previous tower witch had died. Loneliness gnawed on Shiralee’s soul like a manticore on a unicorn. She sometimes thought should go mad from it. Or perhaps she already had.

Unable to bear gazing out at the world she would never feel again, Shiralee sighed and turned back to her loom. Vibrant threads in all colors of the rainbow shimmered in her half-done tapestry. Each thread represented the fate of one soul. These threads formed a chaotic tapestry only the Goddess could understand.

However, Shiralee’s onus wasn’t to understand the tapestry or why the Goddess needed it. No, hers was to scry and weave her visions into the tapestry. Day after day, season after season, and year after year. Until her apprentice stumbled upon the tower, and Shiralee could escape to death’s sweet embrace.

Shiralee sat before her massive loom then waved at the ceiling to reactivate the mirrors above. As various people appeared in her mirror, Shiralee read their fate, and her hands flew weaving more of the chaotic tapestry.

After several hours of unending weaving, Shiralee stilled at an unexpected sight. A sight like she had never seen. A man who appeared much like any other—except she couldn’t read his fate.

Shiralee squinted and cocked her head, but she still could read nothing except the man’s outer self. “What in the Goddess’s name?!”

The man’s gaze shifted and seemed to meet Shiralee’s.

Shiralee gasped but couldn’t wrench her gaze from the man in the mirror.

To be continued…