Triss had made plenty of scathing remarks about prophets. Murphy had once figured her sharp tongue about prophecy must have come from being burned by it more than once.
According to Triss, the prophets across the continent were all a bunch of unhinged weirdos. Their reason had been shattered by the torment of peering into the future, and their minds were trapped in visions of disaster, never at peace.
They were fish blessed by fate, able to poke their heads above the river of time, escape their blinded lives, and steal a glimpse of the current of destiny already laid out for them.
But they were also cursed outcasts, because the future they glimpsed might not come to pass. And even if it did, they could never know what they needed to do to make it happen.
That was an absolutely terrifying burden!
Understanding fate had never been simple. A cryptic prophecy might take years, even decades, to decipher. And the most tragic part was that many prophets who were poor at their craft saw the future come to pass before they could even figure out what their prophecy meant.
Good or bad, they had no time to prepare.
How could you describe that feeling?
It was like dreaming that you'd win the lottery and take home millions, even dreaming the exact winning numbers—only one digit was missing. Just as you eagerly tried to work out that last number and put yourself on the road to the good life, you spotted some asshole outside the lottery shop clutching the ticket that could bring you happiness, making gorilla noises and gloating right in your face.
Ah, look at that!
I was broke when I couldn't see the future, and I'm still broke after seeing it. So what the hell was the