BAD-016
Barista: Joy Livingstone
Date: Jan-9-2020
Receipt: BAD-016
Subject: Omens
I keep shuffling. Again. And again. And again.
And every time—the same card.
DEATH.
Not a bad card. Usually. Transformation. Endings into beginnings. The moment of change, the step beyond—the inevitable shift. Not usually just—death.
But here? No metaphor. Just cold, unshaking certainty.
Even now, with The Gross Wyrm groaning around me, I can still feel it. That bone-rattling howl. The old wood shifts with every breath of wind outside, the ceiling creaking like the bones of something ancient and half-asleep. The hearth spits embers. The glow licks at the stone, hungry, watching. Somewhere beyond the main room, a door swings open. The metal latch clanks—loose, restless, waiting. The scent of peat smoke, spilled ale, whisky—thick in the air, settled into the walls, clinging like a presence.
Normally, a place like this would ground me. Not tonight.
I’ll try again.
The deck feels heavy. Wrong. The cards stick together, fused by something I can’t see. Can’t understand. A force that is ancient yet new. Maiden and Crone conjoined unnaturally.
I force a breath. Steady my hands. Pull one more time.
And still—
DEATH.
The candle flickers. The air presses in. Then—it hits.
A burst of clarity, sharp as broken glass, slicing through the haze. A vision. A revelation. Death is waiting.
And I know where it waits.
Not just where the Cwn Annwn is. Where it wants us. Where it’s pulling us. The path, the pull, the name pressing against the edges of my thoughts like a whisper just waiting to be spoken. The Corpse. The Barrow.
Not Dundugan—
Dowth.
Dubhadh.
Darkness.
Death.
Death, always Death, no matter how you shuffle the deck. There’s no stopping this. No changing the spread. The only choice left—help it be born.
Peace, love—and Death.