'Quin cocked an eyebrow in curiosity as he slid into the offered seat. He tapped one boot on the dirt floor, unconsciously keeping time with the jangling of the chimes outside. 'Sounds like a fair price,' he thought to himself, 'but what does that buy you? A fortune you like, a fortune that's true, or something in between?' He leaned back in the chair for a few moments, studying the gypsy woman. She reminded him of a painting he once saw, a portrait of one of his own ancestors, and wished--not for the first time--he'd had a chance to learn more about his family's history. Then he put such thoughts from his mind, and tried to imagine a worthy question.<br/><br/>There was only one that burned in both his heart and mind, but he doubted anyone but himself could answer it truthfully. It simply sat, waiting for the day when his courage or his strength were equal to the task of facing it. He would not ask her that question.<br/><br/>Instead, he leaned a little closer and rested a palm on the table. There was, he thought, one other question he could ask, one he felt he could withstand. His dark brown eyes settled on hers, and his voice was low, but steady. "A reading, then. Tell me...if I will always be alone."