For as long as she could remember, Molly had been warned that she would cause her true love to die.
Her grandmother's profession was the local's psychic. Her daily envisages were often ambiguous oddities. Things like: Something good will happen to you today. Don't eat mayonnaise. Or: You have a wrongdoing that will not unmake itself. Or: Money is in arm's reach. Open your hand for it.
"I should tell you," her grandmother always told her clients. "What I tell you will be accurate, but not precise."
And that was the way it was. Not everything told by the cards or leaves unfolded in people's lives. There was always that chuckle when a villager would run into an old friend or would strike a small fortune. What Molly's grandmother predicted was consistently the truth, but not always the complete truth.
The other villagers frequently visited their humble home not only for predicaments but rather for advice and good company. While Molly's grandmother was a highly esteemed clairvoyant - so she claimed - she was additionally a good companion. Her sagacious counselling normally left people with a sense of confidence and steady reassurance, which the world needed a little bit more of.
On the other hand, Molly had grown accustomed to her grandmother's peculiarities. She's stumble across her hanging from trees upside down or find her snorkelling in the ocean searching for evidence of the Harvest Goddess. She was raised to discover patterns written amongst the stars, to interpret the most miscellaneous within a dream, to find meanings with shaken tea leaves.
Most of all, her grandmother would frequently discern the future for Molly. Palms were grasped, tarot cards were spread, and stars were analyzed. Regardless of the variety of rituals and various practices on Molly, they were all loosely translated into the same conclusion:
If Molly kissed her true love, he would die.
This was vague. Molly persisted. Can I still kiss someone who isn't my true love? How do I know who my true love is? Does the kiss have to be on the lips? All remained with her mother unable to give her an answer. The spirits could only show so much of Molly's fate. The questionable details remained questionable. She actually had kissed a boy once, but it was a dare and his breath smelled of red peppers and eggs. Indefinitely, he was not her true love.
Molly did not believe in true love. She had never believed in true love except the kind that a mother would show for her child. It was unconditional, it was constant, it was never ending. Any other kind of love eventually died. From villagers telling stories to her mother Molly heard proclamations like love was always growing and love was the key to life. But even the grandest of trees that graced the field withered; even keys lost their shine and transformed into rusted metal.
Her fate had turned into a distant warning at the back of her mind. The notion was an unconscious throb lingering at the back of her mind whenever she talked to a handsome boy. Throughout growing up and even years after her grandmother died and Molly moved from the village to the island of Castanet, she remained indifferent to the idea of being enamoured with someone.
She would never fall in love.
But like all love stories, that was exactly what happened.
A/N: Look who's back! I don't know who remembers me but I missed Harvest Moon and writing in general so I decided to ease back into it. Anyways, this little prologue was inspired by The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater and eventually branched out into a greater idea. Let me know what you thought about what's here so far and don't worry - future chapters will be longer! Ta ta for now!