Welcome to scenic Hope, New Jersey.
I assume it's scenic, anyway. Though the term Tara uses the most is 'quaint'.
We're camped out in a cheap motel while we get our bearings.
Three delinquents were nabbed the other week, each with a bouquet laid out for them. From what Tara and I can tell, they had ties to some local gangs. I hope I am not right about which.
I don't like being here. I had the birth of The Sun recounted to me. There's something in the air. It's setting me on edge.
This would be when I would say "It was a mistake to come here", but it isn't. I'm not sure how I know that, but I know this is what I was supposed to do.
That worries me too, though. I call myself a seer, I give vague prophecies, but the truth of the matter is, whenever I do, I don't feel as though I'm the one giving them. Something speaks through me. Maybe that's my lot, on the chess board. I provide exposition. I explain the rules, I state the venue, I deliver the pieces.
But the game is changing, and I've not been informed of the new rules. Already, what should have been a concrete vision has changed. Jeanette was supposed to be the one here. Chelsea was not supposed to be involved. I was not supposed to have stumbled through a choking mass of overpowering smells and cacophonous whispering leaves and end up halfway across the country.
And yet, Cups and Pentacles have replaced Swords for the time being, and I don't know why.
Oh well. We're going to get something to eat, and then begin investigating.
I hope this wasn't a mistake. I wish I was still locked away, safe in my room, distanced from events by a computer and a disability.
But I have been placed on a different board, in a different game, with different rules.
For now, I have no choice but to play along.