[u][b]Prologue:[/b][/u] [i]The Devil, The Sun, The World, 11 years ago[/i] Lawrence Nesbitt, the child brimming with innocence, as of yet untainted by the world, smiles and looks up at his father as the turn down an alleyway to take a shortcut getting home. --- [i]The Fool, The Empress, Wheel of Fortune, three weeks ago[/i] [i]"Si ce ne était pas plus longtemps, vous pourriez marcher autour nue!"[/i] The words splashed around in Marcelle Marcoux's mind as she herself splashed around in shallow water, a self-conscious voice in the back of her head telling her that the comment made by her sister was merely a jab a the length of her hair, not advice to be taken seriously. Still, there was something about the openness of nudity here that felt natural to her, comforting, in a way she couldn't quite understand. Perhaps it was also that she knew she was alone? It was barely 6, no tourists would be flocking to the beach anytime soon, that, and the silvery mist protecting her form from being observed by the hungry eyes of any errant passerby's, looking to ogle at the young French heiresses nude form. If she was to be honest with herself (which she wouldn't be), she wasn't sure she cared. She didn't think she cared that she was displaying her spreadeagled naked body for whomever might lurk in the fog, She didn't care if her hair was long enough or not. Her hair was long enough. --- [i]The Hermit, The Magician, The Moon, yesterday[/i] The old valise was perhaps a little too full, Max conceded as he strained to close it, the springs of his bed creaking as he pushed down on the lid. Still, he was obstinately determined to make this one suitcase work. He didn't want to bring any more luggage than he had to. There was a gentle tap at his door, and Max's father poked his head inside. He was a gentle, soft-spoken man with warm eyes and a graying walrus mustache, and yet Max didn't particularly want to see or speak to him. "All packed?" the older man asked quietly. "Yeah, Dad," Max grunted as he wrestled down the lid a final time and struggled with the straps on the suitcase. "You sure I can't give you a ride to the airport?" "Armando's dropping me off. He should be here soon." "Tell him to be careful driving up there. The I-5 can be a real pain in the keister this time of day." The older man hovered uncertainly in the doorway, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say next. Max looked at his father curiously as he struggled with the old leather suitcase. "Is there something else?" The man shrugged. "Look, son, I just wanted to say I'm proud of you and I love you. And- and I think if your mom was here she'd be proud too." He shuffled awkwardly, reaching into his pocket for something. "I've been planning to give this to you for a long time, I was just never sure when. It's hard to know the right time, when you have kids you'll understand that. I thought maybe your thirteenth birthday, but I didn't think you'd be old enough to understand. Then I thought last Hanukkah, but. . ." his voice trailed off. "You missed last Hanukkah," Max said coldly. "You were down in El Centro with your Dreamer buddies. Looking for- what was it? El Chupacabra? Or was it the ghost lights again?" "Well, to be fair, Hanukkah isn't even one of the High Holidays," the old man tried to joke. He could see his attempt at humor was not appreciated, and cleared his throat. "Anyways, I've carried this a long time for you, because rightfully you should have it. Do you remember this?" He extended his hand. Within his palm was a smaller palm, made of ornate and carefully polished silver. A Hand of Miriam. Max looked closely, hardly believing his eyes. "Wasn't that Mom's? She wore it around her neck, right?" The older man nodded. "She wanted me to give it to you when the time was right. Take it, wear it around your neck, many Sephardim do. They say it protects you from demons and the evil eye." Max took the talisman, looped the chain around his neck. "Thanks, Dad, I don't know what to say. Something to remember Mom by." His gratitude was genuine. He remembered the trinket vaguely from his childhood, so long ago, but had never really thought to wonder what had happened to it in the years since. "I don't know about the evil eye bit, but I do appreciate this." The old man shrugged. "The evil eye might be real. I don't know just yet. Just do me one favor, son. Let me know about anything. . . weird on that island, alright? You know how your old dad likes his spooky stories." Max arched an eyebrow at this. "Dad, is this one of your schemes to prove to me the supernatural exists?" he said, only half-joking. His father shrugged lightly. "A man's got to believe in something bigger than himself, son." A car horn sounded outside their house. "That must be Armando. You'd better get going, Maximilian. I'd hate for you to miss your flight." --- [i]The Fool, The Empress, Wheel of Fortune, three weeks ago[/i] Her coffee brown locks were long enough that any passerby probably thought she was on some weird floatation device, or something. The self conscious part of her mind, the part reminding her that she was naked on the shore of family oriented beach, was soon drowned out by the apathy that had consumed her as of late. Marcelle was anxious. Anxious about having to inherent her father's legacy, having to he lead all those rich [i]connards[/i]. Anxious and filled to the brim with drugs. She placed another... thing... onto her tongue. She wasn't sure if it was DMT or MDMA, but it kept her up, it kept her content to no think about what might be the first time she'd ever experienced stress in her life. Marcelle was raised in the micro-community that was Henry's Estates. To her, and to it's some 4,000 residents, Crescent island was all of the known world, and Puerto Libre was some foreign country, to exploit in some way or another. Her entire life, the gated community was her home, and the foggy and exclusive beaches of PL, her vacation spot, she had been raised so as to have to never experience what it was to suffer... As a result, she has no clue what happiness is. --- [i]The Chariot, Strength, Judgment, a few months ago[/i] There was a knock on her door. "Come in." What did Jenny have to hide? As far as she was concerned, nothing. The door slowly swung open, and her mother walked in. There was nothing she could complain about, really - Jenny's room was basically as tidy as ever. Her shelf of audio books were maybe collecting a bit of dust, but she had important things to focus on. Research-y things. Her mother had always pushed her to pursue more interests, and she'd gotten her wish. That said, Jenny wasn't surprised to hear her mother sigh, and she tried to ignore it. Most of the topics she was checking now, sadly, were in text-based format, and it was read or suffer though a computer voice. Reading required a little more of her focus. "Jennifer, why are you wasting your time on this, of all things?" Well, that was unnecessary. Jennifer closed her laptop, lest her mother see exactly what she was reading, and turned to see her mother looking at the newest addition to her room: a cork board, with printed articles and trimmed selections pinned to its surface. All, of course, about the island of Puerto Libre. "For a boy who moved? You could do better." "It's not about Randolph, Mom." That didn't seem to lift her mother's mood any and, well, admittedly that wasn't entirely true. Yeah, other factors played into this, the reason she was using up a fair amount of ink and paper, but it couldn't be denied that she would have never bothered looking into it if he was still around. "Their school is internationally known for its excellence, and it's not like it'd be more expensive than anywhere else I'd look." Though if she let her mother read into the articles she was currently reading, those reports of excellence would likely be questioned. "Besides, I'm just looking into it. I never said I was going." [i]"Es un gran esfuerzo por sólo 'interés'."[/i] Jennifer was fairly certain her mother had said those words. She understood them. Instead of responding to them, though, she watched her mother take down the board and leave the room with it. If she was lucky, her mother was borrowing it to read the articles closely and perhaps understand that this wasn't one of her typical rash decisions. If not, well, Jenny had moved onto a new topic. She opened her laptop back up and resumed her reading about the odd fog the western part of Puerto Libre seemed well known for. --- [i]The Fool, The Empress, Wheel of Fortune, three weeks ago[/i] Apparently she had taken some downers! Marcelle finds herself able to move less and less in the still orange dawn water eventually giving up the endeavor entirely, deciding the struggle isn't worth ruining whatever high the mystery drug she had taken would give her. As she stared into the lightly purple sky, she could see her own smiling reflection. --- [i]The Hanged Man, The Lovers, The Star, a few days ago[/i] "We need to talk, Jess," Dana started as soon as he had walked in the door. Jess was a mixed race girl, a little younger than he was. She was sitting on her small apartment's one and only couch, raising a glass pipe and a lighter to her lips. She glanced up at him as he walked in. "So talk," she said before putting the pipe back to her lips. Dana strode across the room to her and wrapped his hand around the pipe. She lifted the lighter and clicked it anyway. Dana withdrew his hand with a wince, and Jess raised an eyebrow as if to say "that's what you get." Dana held his burned hand as he watched her light the pipe. "I got accepted to that school." Jess finally put the pipe down. "I thought you were joking about that shit..." "I wasn't, I'm not," he said shortly, "I'm going, it's over." "What the fuck?" She shouted, standing up as he turned back toward the door. "You think you're too good for me now or something?" Dana stood with his hand on the door for a moment, and then turned, exploding. "Yes! I am so much more than the smoking, and the drinking! And the bullshit! I tried to get you to quit, but you always find a way to bring me down to your level! I'm sick of it." He turned back to the door, and she hurled the pipe against the wall, where it shattered. "If you leave, I'll overdose. I'll kill myself!" Dana held a shaking hand on he door knob for a moment longer, and said over his shoulder, "I'm sick of the emotional abuse too. I'm not responsible for your actions." And he walked out. --- [i]The Fool, The Empress, Wheel of Fortune, three weeks ago[/i] Marcelle couldn't react-- she could barely keep her eyes open-- all she could process was the shadowy figure moving over her and a rough hand closing her drooling mouth, tht was all she could process before the darkness came. --- [i]The High Priestess and Temperance, several months ago[/i] A letter addressed to Emma Fields is sent via overnight express, the first, with an authentic hand signature to prove it. While the name of the academy it is sent from is written clearly on the envelope, there is no return address.