The six of swords, the five of orbs. Things are looking grim. You pull another card, half hoping for a ten of anything or maybe just one of the more nurturing goddesses, but it is the hanged man. Look, you have a story to tell and you’ll keep seeing it appear until you tell it. Stories are like that; they stand in the corner like haunts, long and patient and lonely. Think of the chains you noticed threading along the red cliff walls. Didn’t you say then, this feels like a sign?