#15

An inciteful jest and a neatly folded yellow square of paper placed amongst others in a red shoebox. Fate herself perks at the words, awakens, senses an injustice, an inconsistency. The room, high ceilinged, full of bodies, exhaling and inhaling, listening, attentive, to a man in a costume globe. Sipping at ales, whispering in friends ears. Finally a name, called to a silent room, and everyone has turned to look at you and she smirks. She has made a liar of you, as she has before and as she will do again.