tw's: 

there is supposed to be something about threes. you have only ever caught glimpses of his notes, quickly wrested away from prying eyes, curious glances, desperate looks.

but there is something about threes. you know this.

snowflake obsidian. sea glass.

that’s two.

the third, you think, must be the blood.

( of course. )

it trickles its way down your arm from every sharp point, leaving the red behind as the rivulet runs clear, stinging like salt.

( is it blood or water ? does it matter anymore ? )

… that drip solidifies as it hits the ground, no different than candlewax.

your brother likes to play with cards, this you know, and so you’ve brought three of them ( it’s always three, remember? ) without taking so much as a glimpse at them until now. that’s part of the game, isn’t it?

XIII. DEATH   /   UPRIGHT

you’ve been told before, admonished chidingly, that death is not an inherently ‘bad’ card to draw. a change, a metamorphosis, but still an end. there is always an end. nothing to be afraid of.

your fingers shake anyhow, the slightest tremor, as you cast the card into the seawater. stagnant, it floats unbidden by the waves — an omen.

you suppose you know it isn’t really seawater anyway, so you shouldn’t be surprised.

the second card falls face-up.

XVI. THE TOWER   /   UPRIGHT

this is the bad one, isn’t it? that much you know, even if you’ve never paid any attention to the things they all say.

you have never been frightened before ( or perhaps you always are ) and at this point it’s difficult to tell whether it’s your heart pounding in your chest or the water dripping into your lungs that makes it hard to breathe.

XXI. THE WORLD   /   REVERSED

you know that you will not be found in time.