Late at night, a visitor enters the fortune-teller’s tent with no line to wait in. Outside, the air carries caramel and smoke, but inside the tent is warm, scented with incense, roses, and beeswax.

After a brief wait in an antechamber, the visitor passes through a beaded curtain that clinks like rainfall. The inner room is lined with candles, and the visitor sits at a central table in an unexpectedly comfortable chair.

The fortune-teller, smiling behind a fine black veil, uses no crystal ball or cards. Instead, the fortune-teller scatters sparkling silver stars across the velvet-covered tabletop and reads them like runes.

The fortune-teller speaks with unnerving precision, mixing things the visitor already knows, things the visitor might have guessed, and possibilities the visitor cannot comprehend. As the candlelight flickers, the stars seem to shift subtly, and before the visitor leaves, the fortune-teller reminds the visitor that the future is never set in stone.