The Prophecy of Three Coins

My name is Windy Lopez, and I run a fortune-telling shop nestled deep within an old alley.
The wooden signboard inscribed with “The Oracle’s Abode” had long since faded; by day, it emitted a weathered gleam under the sun, and at night, the streetlamp at the alley’s entrance bathed it in a pale bluish-gray light.
By day, I divine the fortunes of the living—revealing truths of love, fate, and misfortune.
Some clutch yellowed photographs, seeking news of lost cats or dogs; others grip crumpled pay slips, desperate to know if promotion awaits; some arrive with red-rimmed eyes, hoping to learn whether a faithless lover can be reclaimed.
I always sit behind that faded pear blossom wood table, gazing at their anxious or expectant faces, using three copper coins, a stack of divination slips, or a polished bronze mirror to speak words they wish to hear—or dare not.
At night, I become an Underworld Envoy.
Just after the midnight hour, the black robe slips over me as if of its own will, the Soul-Capturing Chain shimmering coldly in my palm.
I tread through the mists of dreams to guide souls lingering among the living, leading them through the rift at the Boundary Between Yin and Yang toward their rightful destination.