2: The High Priestess

She watches from behind the two-way mirror, atop the throne cloaked in a waterfall. The moon is perched atop her head and caught beneath her feet in a shallow thrash of sea water. The ocean puddle pools at the soles of her feet, faded from the billowing bottom of her robe, whose folds contain darkness and lightness and enlightendness, all sedentary and stationary and stiller than a mill pond.
Secrets swirl in the concave conclaves of her subconscious. 
So she sits, she waits, shoulders pressed firmly back in a nonchalant display of regal clairvoyance. Her eyes reflect in the endless halls of the scrying pool, deep and dark and dappled in mirrors, as within her, the light of foresight glimmers.
To kiss her is to taste pomegranate seeds and frankincense, to gape in awe at the sudden realization of your own ignorance. For she is the Lady of the Lake, the Oracle at Delphi, she is Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. She knows and she sees, and her wisdom is bound in the whirlpool of her mind. It is there that the pas, present, future all melt together like water and ice in the sun.
She sees all, and she contemplates, and is bound by pillars of balance beside her. Never interfere, that age-old-maxim-of-the-all-knowing.
Knowing is one way of putting it. She views, it is true. The lines of connection and coincidence beam across to her like slats of moonlight through a murky window. She watches, through the crystal ball, through the lines of fate on pinkish palms, through the shapes that ooze out of cracking eggs, and the memories left behind by gulped tea. She observes, through the orbs of happenstance that stain themselves into constellations. She sees and she whispers and her mind whispers back, gnawing at her from the inside-out.
Always thinking and whirring and whizzing along, with the thoughts of her mind zooming from neuron to neuron at breakneck, slow-as-a-passable-stream speed.
The moon shows her silvery pathways, gleaming with possibility and lust and sensation and pain. And the moon bars her from them, trapping her in the oceans' gravitational, eternal ebb and flow. She is bound and gagged, seeing all and knowing all, unable to make sense of it.
So she sits. And waits. And watches. Forever.