The Prophecy
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young lady, pregnant with her first child. Answering an unexpected knock at her door, she found herself face to face with a curious-looking stranger. The other woman introduced herself as a psychic and immediately began bombarding the expectant mother with an impromptu personal reading. Unfortunately, things got off to a slightly rocky start.
“You’re going to have a son,” the medium said with a fixed and knowing stare.
What the stranger didn’t know was that this pregnant lady dabbled in her own forms of witchery, and had discovered months before that the child she was carrying was actually a girl. She informed the would-be psychic of her mistake and half-expected the stranger to turn around and leave.
“No, no,” the woman replied, glancing down at the prominent bump, “not this one, but you will have a son. And he will be very important for you, he will bring about a much-needed balance to your soul.” The psychic stood in the doorway, briefly grinning at the fact that her spiritual hooks had sunk in, before launching off into her prophecy.
“Both of you are bound by an uncommon connection: you and your son have shared a previous life before. He was the only child of a wealthy Lord, while you were born into a peasant family who worked and lived on the outskirts of their land. The two of you, being the same age, grew incredibly close during those early childhood years, playing together at every possible opportunity.
“Then, one night, you awoke from a bad dream and, unable to get back to sleep, wandered to one of the windows in the cottage. What you saw, blazing out there in the darkness, froze your mind and heart with fear. Over in the distance, the stately manor house was ablaze, engulfed in a raging inferno whose thick and billowing smoke taught true blackness to the night sky.
“You did the most a child could,” the psychic went on, “you tried to wake your parents and raise the alarm, but by the time the other peasant families had all gathered to fight the flames, it was already far too late. There were no survivors, and you had lost your best friend in the whole world. You never forgave yourself for failing to save him, and that sorrow has been so deeply embedded in your soul that it still follows you to this day.
“Do not look so troubled,” the psychic woman said, stepping forward and taking the pregnant woman’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “This is such excellent news. The son you shall bear will allow this past tragedy—this wrong that you have suffered and have clung onto for so long—to finally be righted. He will bring balance to the both of you.”
Without another word, and offering no opportunity to accept payment, this mysterious oracle turned and departed.
The pregnant woman was my mother, and two and a half years later, I was born.
(to be continued…)