Fortunette, a waifish mystic-freak, perpetually thirteen-years of age, is renown for dispensing spot-on fortunes. She is a corseted soul, tightly bound, yet straddling two planes, the present and the past. Her parentage is the fodder of viscous rumors, the speculation being she’s the result of demonic and/or extraterrestrial husbandry. After all, her complexion is gypsum, her eyes onyx, framed by barbed lashes, and oh, those ears!

The ones who approach Fortunette pay a mere ten dollars for her premonitions, inflating a balloon she supplies, and then knotting it while pledging to believe all she reveals. She envelopes the balloon with her keen, toadstool ears, eavesdropping on the foretelling whispers held within the soul’s imprisoned breath, which swirls kaleidoscope-like, churning out colors that reveal past foibles, upcoming events, oncoming calamities, and death’s modus operandi. She insists one enter the tent her ears form and grasp the balloon for better reception. Her essence roams throughout the corridors of one’s veins as if she’s a centipede — not horribly unpleasant, mind you, but somewhat unnerving.

Most life paths are rocky; usually the hapless wish to know spot-on fortunes. Her voice, oftentimes, is laced with white noise when divining premonitions. She chokes up so. Rarely, let me assure you and emphasize, rarely, does she smother a patron rather than have them meet the dire fate that awaits them.   

So, dear one and potential patron, care to feel Fortunette?

Artist: Eleanor Sugarplum

Biography:  Rebecca Nazar  (http://rebeccanazar.blogspot.com/)