It was a cold winter night in which an Orb of crystal lay Sparkling in
the moon light, luring in its unsuspecting prey

And so began the infamous tales of the enchanting Orb Jealousy, anger
and love, the emotions it would absorb

Its master however was one of even greater powers For some fervently
believed her magic could turn back hours

Blinded they were by her rather, darkened compelling soul Their
credulous, trusting selves falling through her bottomless hole

Little did they know that they were all Pawns in her game of chess The
lives she ruined, her calculated manipulations nonetheless

The tragic tale of poor Rachel McAdams soon comes to mind Now
ninety-five and her long lost lover, no one would ever find

This followed by her preposterous prediction of the Great Flood A city
of panic fleeing at the slightest sight of mud

The hushed whispers haunting her footsteps, as she would tinker past
Clad in a bright, vibrant skirt, shoes that curled, marked as an
outcast

Drenched in an aura of finesse and a dark heavy perfume, Her face,
concealed by a veil, a mystery one would presume

A silky voice thick with an accent, enthralling her clients Her
overwhelming persona rivalling those of giants

Mindless of the chatter, steadily following in her wake For in the end it was their future she would later forsake

Her legacy as the town's fortune-teller always remained Seeking the
past, present and future as had the fates ordained