( it's almost embarrassing to think that her question had been heard--almost embarrassing to think that those feelings, weak as they are, could be exposed out loud to someone else. perhaps they are safer with a stranger than trapped inside her thoughts; this stranger, at least, looks at her with a calm smile, and at once, she feels nearly soothed by it, offering a clumsy one in return.

with another glance down at her hands, where the paper twists nervously between her fingertips, she steels herself with one long, slow breath. )

...What do you know of death? ( it isn't accusatory, but rather, soft and curious: could this woman be the owner of this shop? someone closer to such a realm? there's nothing like the lifestream here that she can feel at all. ) I'm...

Well. ( there's a soft laugh, as she sticks her hands out, placing the slip of paper neatly in the woman's palm. ) I don't know it very well at all, myself. Tell me if this is a good fortune, or a bad one...