2
AT A GLANCE
Dante hesitated at the door. The psychic's estate was one of an unwelcoming demeanour. Traces of mahogany wood lined the perimeter of the building, but were mostly rotted away. A large pane of glass wrapped around the corner, concealing most of what lay inside due to a strange, cloudy mask over it. Dante's heart began to race, making him consider whether he truly wanted to enter: what if the building's appearance was a mirror to its body?
He pressed his head to the glass, but could not see anything on the other side clearly. The longer he remained dormant in the street, the more frightened he became. Every gust of wind triggered paranoia within him, making him fearful that the strange, chilling presence was returning. Therefore, as the day was growing darker, Dante mustered the courage to enter the psychic's estate and pray that he would be out before nightfall to avoid any presences.
As he slowly pushed the door open, its hinges creaked to a painstakingly high decibel, whilst a tiny bell rang in its corner. The air in the shop was thick and suffocating. Strangely, Dante discovered that the cloudiness he saw on the windows was, in fact, also in the room; it was like a thick fog resided inside. It smelt of smoke, yet Dante could sense underlying hints of vanilla. From corner to corner, the store's floor was littered with unusual trinkets of all kinds; dolls, books, and different rolled rugs. Dante was taken aback by the atmosphere and its claustrophobic eccentricity. He tried as best he could to survey the shelves above the lonely counter, analysing a row of globes with glowing mist inside. The collection of mist-filled globes stood out to him through the foggy air; they looked like rainbow beacons, pointing towards a doorway. They directed his eyes to the obscure door, which was concealed with overhanging beads. He assumed that the psychic was through the doorway somewhere, although he felt as if his presence would be imposing if he entered without first being granted authority to do so. He drew breath and fought his nerves to call out, when he was interrupted.
'If you wish to speak to me, then walk through the beaded door; do not be afraid.'
The voice was shrill and wavered in pitch; it was fitting for the store's appearance: mystic and bizarre. Dante had yet to decide if the voice sounded trustworthy before he walked through the doorway and into a small, dark room. If not for the illuminated globe on the small table, he would not have been able to see a thing. Even the psychic was largely obscured; only the lower half of her face was partially visible. What was revealed was a large, drooping nose and thin, pale lips, surrounded by an inhumane sea of deep wrinkles.
Dante cautiously sat opposite her on a small, dense mat. Only the minuscule table with the globe on top acted as a barrier between them; Dante felt exposed and vulnerable to anything the old woman would try.
'My name is-'
'Dante D'Arco.'
Dante was shocked. He recoiled at her response. Never had he set foot in this part of the city, let alone this store, yet this psychic knew his name.
The psychic surveyed his expressions, as if she were reading his thoughts through a transparent glass; 'it is not your name alone that I am aware of; I also know why you have come.'
Dante doubted her words. He knew not the full potential of the psychic's abilities, but greatly underestimated her power in reading his mind to the extent of knowing his intentions.
'You couldn't possibly know! I have told no one, plus it is a recent burden.'
'Don't be so sure,' an eerie smile swept over her lips. 'I must say, though, you are the first to come to me with such an inquiry; dreams are truly fascinating.'
Again, he was shocked beyond belief. She was toying with him in a sarcastic manner that frightened Dante. It was clear to him now that the psychic's power held no limits when gathering superficial information. But, instead of recoiling, Dante saw this as the perfect opportunity to finally get some clear answers about what was happening to him.
'So you do know… then tell me, why is this happening?'
'That, I cannot answer fully; it seems as though a greater force has chosen you to bear this task, one that I cannot see. However, I may be able to show you a glimpse into your future, and perhaps all will be clearer.'
The psychic raised her hands just above the glowing orb on the table and chanted a whisper in a foreign tongue. It seemed as though the globe was reacting to her voice and changed colour in response. Red smoke now circled the inards of the globe, with barely visible droplets of rain and thunder crashing down; to Dante, it looked as though a minuscule scene of a storm was playing out within this tiny orb.
'Place your hands on it.'
Dante complied reluctantly. In an instant, blurred visions appeared before him. His head spun as if a million different thoughts were colliding into each other. Nothing was coherent, and it all moved so fast that he wasn't able to focus on a single thing. Suddenly, the visions paused. Now, his sight had a permanent crimson screen colouring the world. He was on the ground. Nothing around him looked familiar, and the sky was torn in two, with its blood painting the atmosphere. A man stood before him with a sword, its tip glistening. As he raised his eyes upward, he noticed blood on the man's clothes, but no visible injuries. That was when he saw his face. Initially veiled in darkness, his focus shifted, and he could see clearly who it was: himself.
Dante pulled his hand away in terror and wiped away the perspiration which had formed on his forehead.
'What was that!'
'You saw something you did not like?'
'I saw myself, covered in blood and wielding a sword! I thought you said this was the future!'
'It is.'
'It can't be; how could I ever kill another?'
'I do not know any more than you do. It may not make sense now, but who knows what you'll be doing years from now?'
'In what normal case does one just have a sword? And covered in blood!' Dante couldn't focus his mind. His head throbbed, which he didn't help by pulling on his hair.
The psychic stared at him with intrigue, for she could see what he would become, and was wholly interested in how he would ever transform into it.
'You want to know more about Giorgio Valentine, yes?' she started in hopes of calming him down; 'my knowledge on him is scarce, as it is for most. But, you, Dante, have the power of discovering everything there is about him.'
'Through my dreams?'
'Yes. I can sense that, through each dream, a small piece of his history will be revealed to you. So, if you want to know more about him, go home and dream.'