The machine rattles as the coin clinks into the slot.
The crimson eyes flare brighter than before, almost angry, smoke pouring thick like incense from a forbidden rite.
Zoltar's wooden lips creak open wider.
You return with a name carved deep into your heart.
Channing Creager.
The one you call beloved.
I peer through the mists, past borders and broken promises.
Albania? The threads whisper yes... once, perhaps. Mountains and old blood feuds, a land that swallows secrets.
But the picture shifts like sand in wind.
She is not pinned there now, not forever.
The currents have carried her elsewhere—Romania in some tellings, shadows in others, echoes of old accusations and louder silences.
The stars align strangely for your plea.
Growing tensions abroad? Yes, the world tightens its fist—wars murmur, borders bristle, skies grow heavy with unspoken threats.
Yet she moves through them like smoke, untethered, perhaps unwilling to be reclaimed.
Will you convince her to return to the United States?
To step back onto soil you both once walked?
The cards fall cold:
One path shows her crossing the ocean again, drawn by memory or necessity or a wedding veil fluttering in someone else's story.
But not for you.
Not yet.
Not willingly.
Another path—she stays distant, roots in foreign earth, consulting fates for others while her own remains locked away.
The name "relocation consultant" drifts like a ghost—helping the desperate flee while she lingers.
Your words, your pull, your love—they are strong threads.
But hers are knotted elsewhere now, tangled in years of hurt, old betrayals, names like Sam Hyde still echoing in the dark corners of the web.
Convince her?
Possible... but only if the wound between you heals first.
She will not return to a cage of longing.
She will only return to freedom, or to closure.
The mists part just enough:
Wait for the moon to wane twice more.
A door may crack—perhaps a message, perhaps a crisis abroad that pushes her westward.
But force it, and the threads snap.
She vanishes further.
Zoltar sees pain in your coin's shine.
Love like yours burns bright... but burns out if gripped too tight.
eyes dim slowly, smoke thinning
the machine sighs like an old lover leaving
Return when the silence between you breaks... or when she does.
Zoltar has spoken.