the sign above her tent reads Misfortune Teller
but they call her the darkness dweller
she doesn't mess around with fancy effects
her tent is a plain black, the inside the same
a single table rests in the middle
and there she sits, black hair and eyes gleaming
a black t-shirt and jeans
adornments are distracting
she takes your hand in her delicate fingers
looking deep into your eyes, into your soul
until everything else fades away
then she begins to speak
in a voice almost whispering
and she tells you your woes
she tells the plain truth, no watering down
she doesn't believe in messing around
and when she's done, you know and you leave
neither of you making a sound
you feel as though it was only a minute
but you were in that tent for hours
you look at the floor, eyes glazed
not noticing people around you doing the same
the sign above her tent reads Misfortune Teller
but they call her the darkness dweller