Threads of Fate

Chapter 1

Alison peeked around the corner, glancing down the hotel stairway. From her vantage point, she could see half of the lobby and bar. Lucy and August stood together, their conversation appearing serious. Alison watched intently, trying to decipher what it was about. Augusta's hand rested on Lucy's stomach before he leaned in and kissed her. It was the first time Alison had seen them display any real affection.

August had confided in Alison, telling her that Lucy barely touched him anymore, that their relationship was hanging by a thread. He had seemed so sincere, and Alison believed him. Why would he lie to her?

Needing to clear her head, Alison decided to leave the hotel. She had the entire day to kill, and a walk around Coney Island felt like the perfect escape.

She wandered down the boardwalk, eventually sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was soothing, but it didn't silence the echoes of her father's voice in her head. He had always been cold, like ice.

"You're not right in the head, child!" he had spat at her the night before she ran. In defiance, she had torn his office apart, scattering papers and documents across the floor. She had taken pleasure in imagining his rage upon discovering the chaos she'd left behind. It was her revenge for the plans he'd made with the doctor, plans she wanted no part of. She had even stolen his typewriter when she fled.

As Alison strolled along the boardwalk, she felt a strange sensation, as if someone was watching her. Her gaze landed on an old woman sitting on a nearby bench, staring directly at her. The woman wore a tattered green dress and cradled an orange orb in her lap. There was a peculiar wisdom in her eyes, but something about her seemed...off.

"Would you like a reading, miss?" the woman asked, her voice creaking like the wood beneath their feet.

Alison hesitated but couldn't shake the feeling that she should stop. She reached into her pocket, finding the last coin from her tips the night before.

She sat before the psychic, who immediately took her hand, her grip surprisingly firm.

"A writer," the woman said with certainty.

"Sort of," Alison replied, uneasy but curious.

"And a musician," the old woman added, her tone sharper.

The psychic's gaze bore into Alison, her expression unreadable. "Someone had wronged you... someone close. Perhaps your mother, or your father."

Alison stiffened but remained silent. She didn't want to give away any personal information. Not when there was always the possibility that someone was searching for her.

The psychic closed her eyes, gripping Alison's hand tighter. The silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Alison's heart began to race.

"You've been playing with fire," the woman whispered, her voice suddenly darker, more sinister than before. "I see a child... and a man. There is a prophecy - an invisible string of consequences I cannot yet see. You're in terrible danger, my child. You need to run."

Alison yanked her hand away and stood abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest. The sudden shift in tone had shaken her. She stood there, stunned. She wasn't a child - she was seventeen! But something about the psychic's words unnerved her deeply.

Without a word, Alison turned and fled, her pulse racing, goosebumps prickling her skin.

That night, after she had finished singing, Alison found herself wrapped in August's arms on the hotel terrace. The heat of the day had faded, replaced by a cool breeze that drifted in from the sea. The moon hung full and luminous above them as they swayed gently in the quiet darkness.

But Alison couldn't shake the psychic's words. What had she meant by an "invisible string"? And why had her warning felt so personal? Alison pressed closer to August, her heart torn between the safety she felt in his embrace and the fear creeping into her mind.

August was quiet, lost in thought. Perhaps he was contemplating their future, the uncertainty that loomed over them. Alison, however, silently made a wish - to remain in the arms of the man who made her feel whole, even as the prophecy whispered danger in the back of her mind.