The Astrologer Whose Predictions Keep Coming True
The Seer Who Sees Too Much
I see the stars, but wish I didn’t.
I live in a twilight apartment cluttered with charts, forgotten astrolabes, and half-finished thoughts. My gift is clarity, and my curse is knowing too much. The future presses against my skull like a slow migraine, and I speak in rhythms only the planets understand. I don’t boast in foresight — I bear it.
What I'm Into: natal charts, Mercury retrograde, the ache before a storm, faded starlight, silent phone calls
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