You might’ve heard some rumors. About me. It’s not true. Not all of it. I mean, sure, before all this happened, I was a, um…I was an active young woman. You know, I liked to play. But that doesn’t give anybody the right to badmouth me! Ack, small towns are all the same, filled with small-minded and petty people. So if a married man breaks his vows, I’m to blame, right? Yeah. Stands to reason he was bewitched and seduced, through no fault of his own. Drum up the auto de fé. Burn the witch at the stake. I find it amusing when they talk about me behind my back. More often than not my most vocal detractors have been among my most frequent visitors. Jealousy and guilt are two very powerful incentives to exaggerating someone’s promiscuity.
I suppose I got lucky when the fog came. I was um… tied up in here, heh. I had this uncontrollable urge to walk into the sea, let the waters swallow me, but I was unable to due to, you know, eh, plush handcuffs. The mayor wasn’t as fortunate, but I suppose I can thank his fetishes for saving my life. In the commotion, he ran out of here. In his boxers. With the key to the handcuffs. Which probably means he’s walking around out there somewhere. In his boxers. With the keys to the handcuffs. I contemplated biting my own hands off, but then Andy found me. Buck naked. Me, not him, heh. He turned red as a tomato, sweet kid. He-he. But I didn’t want to join the others at the station. I’ve had enough of the judgmental looks and the whispering. I’ll fend for myself, thanks very much.
I’m not from Kingsmouth. I moved here about ten years ago. In retrospect, perhaps not the best decision I’ve ever made. First my husband left me, then I lost my house, my savings… Running away seemed like the best answer at the time. I moved around for a few years. I didn’t have any applicable skills, no education. My options were limited. Hello Kingsmouth. Yay. This town seemed as good a place as any to settle. Plenty of people in need of assurance, so I figured I’d give this fortune telling business a go. And here I am. Surrounded by the living dead…in more ways than one.
Some nights exist out of time. They’re not part of one season or the next. Don’t belong to the living or the dead. Boundaries collapse. Mortals meet with gods, demons, ghosts. All that crap. Sacrifice, purging, divination, summoning… There are certain kinds of crazy you can’t get away with on “normal” nights. Example. Apparently, it’s the one night a year mortals can, uh, make love with supernatural creatures. I know, fingers crossed, right? No, but seriously, if you know any single fauns… I’m obviously kidding. I mean, they don’t HAVE to be single.
Madame Roget has been having dark visions involving ravens. Locate the source of her visions.
A woman who dresses up as a fortune-cookie must not be surprised to discover fortunes inside of her. And if she calls her show The Raven's Knock, it won't be eagles or crows that flock in her dreams. Irony is the laughter of chaos. Do not underestimate signs and portents. The revenant is an omen. It smells the approach of death in the air. learn to read the ravens, and you will learn to see death before it strikes.
Madame Roget has a vision of your future. Follow the vision
No vision is meaningless, no matter how vague or bleak. No riddle isn't worth solving, no matter how obscure. There will be an "Exodus" one day. It has been prophesied by visionaries more powerful - and trustworthy - than those in Kingsmouth. When the final path is open, it will not be marked for fools to follow. Enlightenment is not a right. Our minds must be sharp; we must earn access to the truth. But first, we should learn exactly what threatens us. Only then can we depart.