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Anamnesis Act III: Cups
Mar. 31st, 2022 01:25 am
As promised yesterday, part three of my Anamnesis story. Below the cut is the full layout of what this piece will look like when laid out on the screen.
"You manage to find your home. The façade is unfamiliar. You fish the key out of your pocket and open the door."
( This is my layout with more cards from The Somnia Tarot by Nicolas Bruno )
Act I: Pentacles | Act II: Swords
My draw for Act III was: 13, 2, 11
"You find a tucked-away sketchbook and flip through its pages. What does the cover look like? What is inside?"
STRENGTH :: Nothing about the building feels familiar even as I feel compelled through its entrance and wander through its rooms. On a small table in a small cozy bedroom is a leatherbound book with dried leaves tied in twine, wound around the leather strap. I untie it, careful not to disturb the small dried white blossoms as the book opens. A leaf floats out from the first page and I catch it gently as possible. The writing inside is a sloped, orderly text surrounded in illustrated vines, blossoms and leaves. There's a sketch of the white preserved flowers on the first interior page. It's ink is brown and smudged in one corner. There's a warning under the illustration on the dangers of the lovely flower.
"There are signs that someone else stays here (or at least used to stay here). Who is (or was) this person?"
THE HANGED MAN :: The bed in the room is only big enough for one person, but there's a larger bed in the next room. Enough comfortable space for a family, three perhaps. The number feels right. It feels as though they've only just stepped out and I've intruded on home still meant for some purpose. I trace my hands along the walls, up the frame of the doors as I pass from one room to the next. A black coat hangs over the back of a kitchen chair, it's damp and I catch the smell of salt water, dirt, and muddy water. I don't know how much of the scent is in the coat and how much is coming from me. I wretch at the strength of the smell, the deep void in my stomach producing nothing but fear.
"There is a dent in one of your walls. What happened here?"
JUDGEMENT :: Along one wall of the kitchen is a long scratch, something that's dug into the wall's depth. When I follow it up, a hole appears, a broken space with a view to the interior of the wall. It's dark inside. I put my hands to it, fingers digging around the edge. It's sharp and slightly warped. Something dark has dried around the edges like paint or varnish applied in poor attempt at repair. My fingers are sticky when I pull them away. The ache in my stomach doubles me over, my head pounds and I take a few woozy steps away from the wall. I don't want to be here anymore, not in the room, not in the house. I make my way for the door eager to put all of it behind me. I lift my hand to block my eyes from the light as I step back out into the street.
