A man wishes for the world; for all of its gifts and horrors. There is an encounter with the Oracle. We have an exchange.

“What is it you see,” says he.

The Oracle is solemn. She speaks.

“You’ve tempted the Fates, and their judgment is final. It is seldom the Spinner go back to her wheel. Even so, you’ve asked, and they’ve indulged.”

Her words are of a knowing that makes the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“You will be granted entry Life’s innermost sanctums. The grasses beneath your feet, like new Spring, will make for lighter passage, and you may take and you may taste of her fruit, and wander her secret gardens, and this will be good.”

Her face grows dark and her eyes bore into him, looking onto his face, searching. “But, also in this place, a shadow moves. Something knows you’re here. Even now it comes.”

Eyes beginning to well, she struggles for words. “You will know a great sadness.”

Dread, an uneasiness, settles over him. He attempts to make light of it.

“It seems you are less prophesying as telling me what is prevailing sentiment. Isn’t it that we will all know sadness?” he chuckles, managing a smile.

“No.”

She reaches for his hand with both of hers, holding tightly, as if it might be the last kindness he will ever know.

“No, child. You will know Sorrow.”