Cassandra

I get a glimmer of truth and roll it around in my hands. Nobody else can see it. There's enough evidence that it's real, and every time I wait long enough, the visions I have will prove to be true in one way or another; it's a mirrored image of the future. I overcomplicate it for myself until threads of fate and fear are nothing but a tangled clump of wool, and then when I finally stand eye to eye with what I saw reflected, it's always so plain that I feel like the simplicity cuts me open with blinding clarity. I like the clarity. Whenever it happens I feel betrayed by my own mind for trying to distract me from it with doubts.

Yet every now and then I stumble upon a horror that I can't accept - not until I can. I notice the fire flickering too early. And then clarity peers at me through a reflection, and suddenly I can't unsee it, and my eyes burn from its intensity with unwillingness to perceive. Fate and fear entwine into something I'm sure will kill me - until the horror is then suddenly normal and I only feel concentration. All I can do is wait for the beast to come. I sit in silence.