Cathy
The year was 1950, and Cathy Finch hated the smell of stale coffee and desperation that clung to her office dress like cheap department store perfume. She filed letters for a man whose breath reeked of gin and forgotten lunches, and dreamed of a life of crisp linen and quiet elegance. What she had instead was a rented room, a dwindling savings account, and a growing fear of spinsterhood. It was this fear, coupled with a ravenous hunger for an easier path, that led her to Madame Vorna. The storefront was tucked away on a bustling side street, a painted eye above the door blinking eerily. Inside, the air was thick with the cloying sweetness of incense, the metallic tang of old coins, and something else – something ancient and subtly disturbing. Madame Vorna, with her heavy silver jewelry and eyes that seemed to have seen too many things, laid out her tarot cards. Her voice, a low rumble, filled the small room. She spoke of a coming windfall, a vast inheritance that would change ever...