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Esme threw herself down into the threadbare, sticky office chair which she used to stream in, and grabbed a bite of the sandwich she’d been picking at for most of the day. Then, she punched the power button and waited for her computer to slowly clunk its way to life.
It was ironic, really — she couldn’t stand the attention of a group of people in real life, but somehow, streaming to a bunch of strangers online didn’t bother her half as much. If she couldn’t see them, then — somehow — they weren’t really there.
Om Baby perched on the side of her desk, legs up in the air, flaunting just how easy it was for her to pull off an inch-perfectshirshasana.
In front of the keyboard, Esme laid out her tarot cloth. It was one of her favorite, favorite things. Night-black velvet, with the phases of the moon printed on it in silver. Each phase had a spot for a card beside it, and a line of text to help with interpretations.
Esme checked the feed of the overhead camera — she’d had to suspend it from the ceiling to get a perfect shot of the tarot cloth. It looked good on screen. Well-lit, in perfect focus.
The second camera was focused, of course, on her.
“Wish I looked as good as the mat,” she joked to herself. She’d changed out of her yoga gear, and into something a little more… fan friendly.
The truth was, most of the people who tuned into her tarot card reading streams were more interested inherthan in the cards. She found that she earned more when she wore less.
She undid an extra button on her vest top, showing a little more cleavage than normal, sighing as she did so.
“This is all your fault, Esme. If you hadn’t been fired from Natural Magick, then you wouldn’t be having to do any of this.”
Om Baby watched, upside-down, without judgment.
“You’d have enough money for rent. You wouldn’t have to show your boobies off to strangers on the internet. Everything would be fine.”
The job at Natural Magick had been good. She’d given readings to customers and helped with sales and customer service. Trouble was, Esme had never been punctual. Not at all. Routine was not her strong point. Neither was following orders.
Go with the flow. That was more her style.
“Helloooooooo, my esoteric friends,” she said, flashing a wide, white smile to the camera. There were already seventy-four people in the chatroom. People who’d been waiting for the start of the stream. “Thank you all so much for being here. My name’s Esmeralda, and I’m going to read some freaking tarot cards for you guys. The sage is burnt. The offerings have been made. It’s time to get seriously, deeply pagan.”
People posted funny emojis in the chat. Other people said hello.
Esme took out a deck of cards and prepared to for everything to become clear.
Tarot isn’t fortune-telling. No. It’s more subtle, more nuanced than that. In a way, it’s kind of like a therapy session. You and the cards, working together to dig around in your subconscious, looking for a way to make life a little lighter, for a way to make sense of this messy world we all live in.
“Freya,” Esme said, “We’ve got some big, big energy on this reading.” She’d already laid out The Ace of Cups (maybe the start of a new romance?) and The Sun (a positive feeling about the current situation). The next card would help Esme really get to the bottom of this situation.
Before drawing the cards, Freya had sent a question to Esme, and it had been a doozy.Should I quit my job?
Esme felt a serious responsibility to the people she was reading for. She was aware that she had the power to influence their lives, and it was not a power she took lightly. She tried her best not to answer questions directly. Instead, she left space for people to answer the questions themselves.
With a flourish, she turned over the top card of the deck, and laid it neatly on the Last Quarter moon diagram.
“Ohhhhhh,” breathed Esme. “The Five of Cups. Inverted. Interesting.” This way up, the card signified emotional healing, and letting go of sadness. “To me, these cards all seem to relate to new beginnings, don’t they?”
Freya, who was in her chat, said:I’ve got to quit, right?
Other chatters gave their opinion. They talked about Freya’s options, and the hard road that lay ahead of her. It was a healthy, constructive discussion.
Well. Mostly.
Because at the same time as people joining in with the tarot chat, there were a couple of trolls who kept making lurid comments about Esme’s looks.
Admittedly, she did have a striking appearance. She had glossy, perfectly straight, black hair, which hung in a heavy, almost rigid bob a couple inches below her ears. Her eyes were bright green, almost impossibly saturated with color. Her skin was pale, and her body was… generous. She got lots of comments about her curves.
Part of her felt strange about it, but, at the same time, she needed the money that the skimpy outfits guaranteed.
In the top right-hand corner of the screen was the donation target for the stream: a hundred dollars. She’d never make it, of course. The most she’d ever made in one stream was sixty-three dollars, and that was a complete fluke. A bigger streamer had accidentally sent a bunch of their viewers into her channel.
