A woman came out from behind a curtain of beads. Seraphine. Or at least that was how she introduced herself. She was around forty-five, with skin dark as polished wood, black hair tied high, lips painted a deep red, and eyes that stared steadily, not to read you but to force you to feel already read. She wore a long dress that whispered against the floor and so many rings that every movement of her hands released a small metallic murmur. “Come on in, honey. Sit.”