The Empress

Upright · They recline on a chair piled with soft cushions, weight fully given over to the seat. Behind them, grain hangs heavy-headed and ripe. A stream moves slowly past their feet. There is no urgency to rise.

Reversed · The grain has gone limp in the field, unharvested. The cushions are there but the chair is empty; they've gotten up again to refill someone else's cup.

A mirror, not a prophecy. It reflects you as you are right now. How you walk is still yours to choose.