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MILO GASPS AS HE COLLIDES BACK INTO HIS PHYSICAL SELF, heart pounding and collarbone throbbing. Beatrice is pawing at his face and neck, mewling softly.
"Bea," he breathes, "I'm okay."
Carefully prying the cat off his chest, Milo sets Bea down on the couch beside him. After analysing him with a cocked head and scrutinising eyes, she seems to determine he is no longer in harm's way and proceeds to groom herself, her single white paw a stark contrast to the rest of her dark fur. Milo looks at his own hand, the one that had been covered in the burning black liquid, and it appears unscathed. He checks his scar for good measure — a dash of paler skin swatched across his collarbone, nothing more.
Lenore and Valerie continue to gaze unblinkingly into the bowl, enraptured by Milo's fate. The reading will end soon, now that Milo is no longer spiritually involved, and he keeps this in mind as he tries to tame his somersaulting heartbeat.
Valerie is the first to return to herself, almost toppling from her perch in the process.
"Holy shit," she gasps, eyes wide as she grips the chair to steady herself. "It's him."
Valerie turns to Milo, and this is when he notices she's shivering.
And then he feels it too. Fate-its presence filling every space and pressing between his ears and behind his eyes, telling him, you are not in control.
This when Lenore returns, barely flinching as her soul returns to her body. She does not look at Milo as she says, "This is not... good."
Sensing Milo's disquiet, Bea pauses her grooming to nuzzle his chest. Milo accepts the comfort, stroking her between the ears with a quivering hand until he finds his words again.
"So you... You saw the body, too?"
Lenore and Valerie exchange a glance that Milo can't read. Lenore turns to Milo and nods solemnly.
"What does it mean? Surely it's symbolic of something. It's not like he was actually–" Milo find himself unable to finish the sentence, the words catching in his throat.
"Milo," Lenore says, her tone and expression equally inscrutable, "What you saw — what Fate was showing you — was a glimpse of your future. A warning, of sorts."
"So what you're saying is... I-I kill–"
"No, no, no. Nope. Stop. Right. There." Valerie interjects, rising from her seat. She begins pacing, dragging a quivering hand through her thick curls, "I'm not letting you finish that sentence."
While Milo's anxiety is an internal thing, a slow sort of bubbling fear that works its way from the inside until it fills his every vein, Valerie's has always been electric. It has a physical manifestation; an energy that crackles in the air brought to life through fragmented sentences and an inability to stay still.
