Jacintha Dalcarlo

'Those who try to defy fate may just be fulfilling the prophecy itself.'

'I haven't found the answer to this question yet—perhaps you could tell me?'

Can those who believe in fate find the courage to resist it?

The smirk beneath that black veil seems to suggest an answer—mocking fate's fragility while deriding its watchful gaze.

Though the tarot's guidance may perhaps truly lead one to the Other Side, the shadows cast when looking back may offer another answer to life's meaning.

A tarot deck rests in my room—worn, yet always cherished by the diviner. The cards still hum with the blessing of her gentle, adoptive mother, Esmeralda.

Esmeralda, the fortune teller who once guided sailors through storm-wracked straits, steered them away from marauding pirates, and led the Pontos to its next destined seer.

But something feels... off. Aren't some cards missing? I have to retrieve them—before the diviner notices.

The Death card lies in a cat's nest atop the castle tower, nestled among silk fabric with golden embroidery—now gray with age and heavy with memories of days long past. Nearby sits a century-old toy, adorned with rubies and emeralds.

Among the treasures, there is a pure gold pendant, etched with the relief of a fearless woman. Beneath, the name 'Limine Bathory' is engraved.

Esmeralda... The diviner mentioned that name too. What connection could there be between them?

Sneaking into the room of the black cat—the elder—a shelf come into view, holding not treasures, but relics: shells emitting an iridescent glow, shining otoliths, and leaves marked with cat paws... all so ancient that a single touch might reduce them to dust. And there, among the collection, rests the Star card.

The diviner once said that each tarot card whispers the truth about fate. Then why do her cards keep appearing near the black cat?

Only one card remains missing from the diviner's tarot deck. Caught in the heavy iron door of the castle basement is something that looks like the Devil card—

Try to pull it out!

Drat, the door won't budge.

It seems the card can't be retrieved unless the door is open.

What secrets could lie behind this heavy door?

Amid uneasy speculation, a whisper seeps through the cracks, resonating like the voice of an ancient god:

'Open... it...'

'Face... me...'

That voice... It's the lure of the Black Blood! Grab the tarot and run!

Surely, it's a demon—a creature of insatiable lust for blood, consuming life.

On the back of the Devil card, a [Pets Feeding Log] is attached:

Swaney: Roast rabbit with onions and ale.

Feuler: Wine-braised lampreys, with extra chickpea and apple purée for being cute.

Polly: On hunger strike.

Wrigley: Weight control—on a diet for one week.

Krabbie: 15 shrimp

Teddy: Lost appetite after being startled by an intruder. Today's intake: only 27 rabbits and 12 chicks.

...

Could it be that what’s behind the iron door isn't a demon, but the diviner's pets?