Tarot

Prolouge

Am I Alone?

Clutching the letter tightly in my hand, I furrowed my eyebrows, questioning the accuracy of the words on the paper. Was it my perception playing tricks on me, transforming the letters into something beyond their surface meaning?

Returning the paper to its place on the nightstand where I had discovered it, I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. While I usually didn't require glasses for objects up close, at that moment, I almost wished that the peculiar sight before me was merely a product of my eyesight playing tricks on me.

I donned my glasses once more, pausing briefly before opening my eyes to cast a glance at the nightstand. There it remained, adorned with an array of scattered objects—my phone, charger, earphones, a night lamp, a glass half-filled with water, and, standing out among them, the enigmatic letter.

I swallowed hard, picking up the letter once again. A sigh escaped me, and my face contorted into a mix of frustration and confusion as I scrutinized the words written in black ink: 'Use the blanket, it's too cold tonight.'

I had a habit ingrained since childhood—I never liked sleeping with a blanket covering me entirely. It became a routine, a comfort in its own way. Even in the coldest weather, I resisted the urge to envelop myself completely. Instead, I would settle for the blanket draped over my abdomen, finding a peculiar sense of solace in the familiar ritual.

The letter bore no signature except for a doodle—a butterfly and a tiny moon in the corner, sketched with red ink, distinct from the black ink used for the actual content. I blinked, perhaps a second too long, silently hoping that when I opened my eyes again, I would find myself clutching nothing but air, the mysterious letter having vanished into the realm of the unreal.

Yet, as I dared to open my eyes, the letter persisted. There it was, right in front of my face, nestled between my trembling fingers, defying the fleeting hope that it might have been a figment of my imagination.

The letter emanated an unexpected warmth, an excess of care, and an overflow of sentiment. Its words resonated with a tenderness one would associate with a partner, a loving mother, or perhaps even a concerned roommate tired of routinely covering me up as they passed by for a midnight glass of water.

Upon my return from work, the letter wasn't there. Was it not there, or was it? I couldn't recall because I simply didn't find it. I remained oblivious as I lay down to sleep, not noticing as I texted my mother goodnight. I still hadn't found the letter as I gradually drifted away into sleep.

Yet, as I awoke, I found myself covered from head to toe, the blanket securely wrapped around me.

As I reached out to the nightstand to grab my phone and check the time, my fingers unexpectedly brushed against the letter. There it was, reappearing like a silent echo from the shadows, casting a curious light on the events that unfolded while I slept.

I considered the possible culprits. It might have been my caring boyfriend, genuinely concerned about my well-being and determined to shield me from getting sick. Alternatively, it could have been my weary roommate, tired of covering me up each night as she returned to her room, battling to preserve her own sleep after a midnight glass of water.

But no, that was not possible — it couldn't have been my boyfriend or a roommate. I was single and lived alone in a one-person studio apartment.

The unsettling thought crept in: had someone broken into my apartment and left this letter? I wracked my memory, questioning if I had been under the influence of alcohol, but the clarity of my mind asserted that I wasn't.

A chilling realization dawned upon me—more crucial than the origin of the letter was the question: Was that person still inside my home?

In the midst of the growing uncertainty, my room was bathed in a soft, light caramel glow emanating from the tiny night lamp perched on my table. The warm illumination did little to dispel the shadows that now seemed to hold secrets, casting an eerie ambiance over the unfolding mystery.