18. The Oracle's Humming (Part 1)

The oracle's humming

Teresa stepped uneasily within the confines of the gypsy's tent. The world inside was unknown to her before but the state outside had given her some semblance of the state inside. And she wasn't wrong in what she had imagined in the small amount of time standing outside as the spectator, about what might lie within the yurt . 

Her eyes flitting nervously across the dimly lit space. The crystal bowl, glowing with an eerie blue brilliance, cast elongated shadows that danced across the walls, adding to the mystique of the surroundings.

Yet, despite the ethereal ambiance, Teresa remained skeptical. To her, the bowl seemed nothing more than a mechanical contraption fueled by electricity—an object devoid of magic and mysticism.

Though the movements in the bowl was a spectacle to see in itself.

Running eyes of Teresa covered the shadowy depts of this big yurt in hopes to finding the owner of it. The one everyone's been calling a 'gypsy'. Teresa thought in her mind to not call the woman that word to her face in fear she might not take it nicely. 

Still unable to locate the movements of the woman, Teresa stepped further in. However, though with curiosity she took her steps, the mind also reminded the girl of unknowns of this eerily silent world of those who delve in mysticism. And so she still remained near the flaps of the yurt that could become her way of escape if things go south.

Flitting thru, her gaze landed once again upon the table in the middle with the crystal bowl, the only source of bright light, other than the few gaps between the cotton sheets of the yurts roof and the slim slit between the flaps of the entrance where the dying light of the setting sun flitted in as the last rebellion.

Something moved ever so slightly upon the table catching her attention. It was than when Teresa realized that what she previously dismissed as the pile of cottons stacked upon one corner of the table -and rightfully so, because of the messy state of every other corner of the yurt- was actually a woman resting limply on the edge; her head turned on the other side, veiled from her sight. 

Is she the gypsy woman who summoned her inside so urgently? But why is she sleeping after calling her inside?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the gypsy, her head previously bowed in a semblance of rest, suddenly straightened in her chair. Teresa's jumped back slightly where she stood -a good distance from the woman- because of the sudden movement from the previously limp gypsy.

If Teresa's heart has not already suffered enough, it skipped quite a few beats as she met the gypsy's gaze when she turned her face in Teresa's direction. The correct term would perhaps be the lack of gaze as the woman's eyes were wide, unblinking and so dark it was as if she was missing eyeballs in her eye sockets. 

A gasp was heard in the still quiet atmosphere around the two women. The gypsy's face was hollow of any emotions and absolutely devoid of any discernible expression. Teresa in her mind automatically compared the woman to a moving corpse, because that is what she looked like.

She can not be faking this, right now. Teresa shook her head and clamed her growing sweaty palms. Fully readying herself to turn around and make a run for it if the moving corpse made even a slight movement in her direction.

"I feel you." The haunting voice rasped out, making Teresa still in her footings. The voice was screeching to Teresa's ears so much so, she winced and wanted to cover her ears with both her hands.

As the gypsy's voice reverberated through the tent with an ominous resonance, its cadence filled with foreboding once again.

"The child of raven. Oh I see so many horror." The tearless wailing reached Teresa's ears.

"I see you and your death."

Teresa kept watching in horror with waves of anxiety washing over her as the gypsy's mouth opened wide, yet her lips remained unmoving, it was as if a sinister presence lurked within the cavity of her throat, speaking through her very being.

The words that followed sent chills coursing through Teresa's veins, each syllable laden with the weight of prophecy and doom. The voice, haunting and ethereal, spoke of a girl and the darkness that sought to consume her.

"Death will arrive at your doorstep soon, child of Raven; for he knows about you now."