Hello dear children of the first dimension, I once again join you from the humble house of DeBoir. I once again risk my mind, my very soul, gazing deep, deep into your futures.
Some have written to ask, 'Madam DeBoir, why, WHY?' My response is simple; my curse is the world's gift. I must pull aside the gilded curtain of time so many are able to live behind, oblivious. I must write down the chronicles of that yet to come, that which still may be, in the hopes that perhaps, like a flickering candle in the night I may save those among you from extinguished fates of darkness and despair.
Now gentle reader, read on, if you dare to uncover your true nature. I warn you though, take heed, for each new mystery uncovered is but a thousand questions drawn in ever-shifting sands.
Adam Winters- Beware the roads Adam! I foresee your green Honda Accord fishtailing into a bank of snow at exactly 7:35 p.m. next Friday as you make your way to the Brentwood Harvey's to meet your brother Stephen for chicken fingers. The deductible for the damage to your front bumper will be too much for you to consider fixing since you decided to cut back on your part-time job at Chapters to focus on your business accounting certification. The small indentation caused by the accident will haunt you for years until you are eventually murdered by a snake charmer in Tuscany.
William Elias- I foresee a horrible loss in your future William! By now you are undoubtedly already aware something is missing from your room. Alas, it is your spare set of garden shed keys! You will lament for weeks over their disappearance, eventually tearing apart the cushions of your sofa in a vain attempt to discover them. But, be forewarned my child, they are gone forevermore! Years later you will eventually replace them but not before several minor inconvenient occasions where house guests and gardening companions are sent on fool's errands to their former resting location only to return empty-handed. Your eventual gender-reassignment-surgery in Tuscany will only briefly dull the regret you feel for your absentmindedness.
Melissa Koroakis- Oh, dearest girl, do you desire love, in the truest sense of the word? Hark, are those the sweet innocent mewlings of a newborn kitten? Her name shall be Mittens and she shall be a glorious companion to you. Temper your foot and your ire with her, for she is small and contains an innocence unknown to you. Mittens requires feeding thrice-daily and prefers a mixture of both wet and dry cat feed, combined evenly with a wooden spoon. Though you would have otherwise never known, your future husband-- a perpetually unemployed insulator named James Stevenson-- will donate Mittens to the humane society in 2016 after growing tired of the pet's obvious favour of your affections. Your botched leg-amputation in Tuscany brings you a fleeting glimpse of Mitten's new owner, though you are ignorant of this fact, who names the cat Big Rudy.
Chad Fife- A your ascent to quasi-celebrity status within the field of novelty cake decoration is assured with the creation of your celebrated, pastry version of the Calgary Tower. After years of touring to sold out bakeries and stadium kitchens, you meet a man named Peter. He is small, with glinting rodent-like eyes. He tells you that the cake business is the past and the future is in the cookie industry. After years of the substance abuse and betrayal that goes hand-in-hand with the life of a famous baker you are quick to trust someone. Peter leaves with more than your fortune, he leaves with your heart. The chill of a Tuscany fall brings a biting, haunting emptiness you are unable to stem.
A thousand thank-yous to this month's sponsor, Tuscany Travel Corp. for their generous blessing that keeps Gauntlet Psychic Predictions alive.