If their plates were brimming before they reached the end of the table, and they spotted something even more enticing, they thought nothing of discarding items from their already overflowing plates. Whether the discarded food fell into a nearby container or directly onto the floor, they cared little for the disruption they caused. In a mere moments, these people could reduce the once meticulously arranged buffet into a dishevelled mess, leaving the table strewn with scraps and discord.

Those who came after would have to navigate through the chaos left behind, forced to sift through the spills that had landed in the containers along with what they actually desired. While they might still manage to assemble a decent meal, albeit with some compromise, it might not taste quite as they had hoped.

Lastly, there were the silent spectators and all the sad sobs who were either too polite or too timid to engage in the initial pushing and shoving. They ended up with hardly anything. They might be afraid of bothering anyone, starving politely and out of sight, or they might approach the future with the humble suggestion of offering pre-prepared, set meals for everyone. They would reason that, while not everyone would get exactly what they desired, at least no one would be left hungry.

And because the future would thus ever again be reminded of the benefit that came with set courses, there would always be a period of well-set, predetermined fates following a time of great change.

This was Faroah’s take on the era-phenomenon: As a world-reader and time-reader, he ever again encountered transparent periods of rigidly distributed fate, fortunes, and futures, followed by a surge of uncertainties that offered him close to no insight.

Now, where was the young witch in all of this? Ah, yes. Taking her left hand into his and turning it over, Faroah said, “The future you desire takes another change of heart.”

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