The Tower/La Maison Dieu

Each card in the Major Arcana is a related to the previous ones. After the self of The Devil, life is self-correcting. Either the querents must make changes in their own lives, or the changes will be made for them.

The querent may be holding on to false ideas or pretenses; a new approach to thinking about the problem is needed. The querent is advised to think outside the box. The querent is warned that truth may not oblige schema. It may be time for the querent to re-examine belief structures, ideologies, and paradigms they hold to. The card may also point toward seeking education or higher knowledge.

Chapter 21

La Maison Dieu

I'm burning.

No matter what move I made, no matter what side I turned my head to. The outcome would still be the same. I was haunted. Hunted. Watched. This changed me.  I would look up to the sky and find myself thinking where eyes would be. Where they would follow me around and make sure everything I did was according to plan. NYF made me believe that he was those eyes. But that was very wrong of me to think. NYF was really not my friend. Not even my enemy. He was a shadow created to push me, all the way down my own brain. After all this time, after all these years, I finally figured out how all of this worked.

"Are you alright, young man?" The old lady said.

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked around. My mind felt fuzzy, like I had been someplace else. Strange. "Yes."

"Your eyes," she smiled. "Are tired."

I sighed.

"Your skin," she shook her head. "Is filled with toxicity."

"H-"

"And your smile," she folded her hands. "Is capable of killing the sweetest man."

Granny Han had been in this nursing home ever since she was slowly regressing. Alzheimer. Normally she would not speak. She would not write. Ever since I got this job after graduating high school and studying at nurse school, she had been here. I watched her go down the drain. Life got out of her. Her family used to be here every single day. Now it was a miracle when they showed up for her birthday.

The only thing she did was sit on her chair and look at the television for hours. The device itself was never on. I often wondered what went through her head. Then I remembered there was no way of telling. She would often scream at me, screeching I had no idea how to do my job. Or she would take her scarf out of her closet and walk down the hall, heading home. She had no home. She did not even have shoes.

Granny had had not spoken for months. I sometimes asked her to write something. Anything. And do you know what she would write?

I don't know.

I asked her what it meant. I asked her. Sometimes she would reply.

"I don't know? I don't know."

And now she was sitting in front of me, while I was mouth feeding her and thinking about home. And she was rambling about. Talking to me like I had never heard before. Like she shouldn't even be here.

"Luhan." she said. "Your name means trouble. Your name is dark. Your voice is a void, a black hole. Oh, you are sad."

"Gr-"

"You know, son? I used to love writing stories. I loved it. My mind was this big, beautiful house and people lived in it. We used to laugh and talk and have fun. I made