The Spire of Odds

"I pray," Vesper whispered, "that you all rot."

She screamed.

It wasn't a sob. It was a primal, tearing sound. And with it, a single tear leaked from her right eye.

It wasn't clear like water. It was dark. It sizzled as it hit her cheek.

**BOOM.**

The glass wall behind her didn't shatter; it disintegrated into dust.

Thunder shook the Spire so hard the Inquisitor fell to his knees. The sky outside, which had been clear and starless for a decade, instantly turned black. Clouds formed in seconds, swirling like a bruise.

Lightning struck the table, incinerating the cards.

"What is this?" the Inquisitor screamed, shielding his face from the sudden gale.

"This isn't a miracle!" Julian shouted, laughing hysterically as the wind whipped his coat. "It's a curse!"

Vesper opened her eyes. They were glowing with storm-light.

"I am not your Saint!" she roared.

The rain began. But it wasn't a gentle, nurturing rain. It was a deluge. It was a hammer. Water fell from the sky with enough force to crack stone. It smashed into the Spire, flooding the room in seconds.

The guards released Julian, slipping on the wet floor.

Julian scrambled toward Vesper. "Vesper! We have to go! The tower is going to collapse!"

The Spire groaned. The foundation was liquefying under the supernatural assault.

Vesper stood on the edge of the precipice, the storm raging around her hair. She looked like a goddess of destruction.

"Vesper!" Julian grabbed her hand. "Jump!"

She looked at him. She saw the fear in his eyes. And the awe.

She gripped his hand.

"Do you trust the odds?" she asked.

"Never," Julian yelled over the wind. "I trust you!"

They leaped into the void.