The afternoon breeze carried the scent of warm bread from the pastry shop and the never-truly-clean, fishy smell of the Seine River. On a bustling street corner, near the sturdy towers of Notre-Dame Cathedral, Isabelle sat on an empty wooden crate. She smoothed the skirt of her patched-up dress. Her worn-out burlap tote bag, a repurposed sack, hung by her side. Inside, it held a piece of dry cheese, a notebook with messy handwriting, and a small crystal that emitted a faint glow—a gift from a goblin she'd helped find a lost sewing needle.
"Isabelle!"
A shrill voice broke Isabelle's reverie. She looked up to see an old woman with rosy cheeks and a basket full of apples. "Madame Dubois, what is it?" Isabelle asked.
"My cat! My cat, Minette, is gone!" Madame Dubois gasped, tears beginning to well up in the corners of her eyes. "It's been three days, Isabelle! Can you… can you read the stars for me?"
Isabelle sighed. She had expected this. Ever since a traveling elf whispered an ancient secret to her under a bridge, and the Dryads shared the language of leaves with her, Isabelle's life had changed from a mere street dancer to an impromptu fortune-teller. But instead of foretelling the fall of a monarchy, she was more often asked to help with trivial matters like this.
"Look, Madame," Isabelle said, her voice calm but sharp. "Last night, I spoke with the constellation Orion. It didn't say anything about a cat. Maybe it was too busy hunting a wild boar-rabbit in the sky."
Madame Dubois looked desperate. "But you can do it! You found Monsieur Thibault's watch when it fell into the sewer!"
Isabelle rolled her eyes. "That wasn't the stars, Madame. That was because I saw Monsieur Thibault drunk the night before, and I knew exactly how he would stumble along the edge of the gutter. Logic, not magic."
"Please, Isabelle!" Madame Dubois whined again. "I'll give you my new pair of red shoes! The most beautiful shoes in all of Paris!"
Hearing the word 'shoes,' Isabelle's eyes lit up. Her current shoes were full of holes. She imagined a pair of shiny, red leather shoes gleaming in the sun. She imagined how light her steps would feel when she danced.
"Alright," Isabelle finally said, standing up from the crate. She closed her eyes, placed her index finger on her forehead, and pretended to enter another world. She wasn't really reading the stars in broad daylight; instead, she was summoning whispers from the fantasy creatures who were always watching her from the shadows. She heard the soft whispers of the Fairies busy weaving spiderwebs, the sound of the Gnomes scratching at rocks, and… Ah, there was a different whisper. A voice from an old Dryad sitting on one of the largest oak branches in Paris.
"... Minette… on the… apple… tree… near… the… house…" the voice whispered into Isabelle's inner ear.
Isabelle opened her eyes and walked straight to Madame Dubois. "Minette is in the old apple tree, in the backyard of the baker at the end of the street. She's sleeping comfortably there."
"Really?!" Madame Dubois shrieked with delight, then planted a hurried kiss on Isabelle's cheek. "Oh, thank you, thank you! Wait right here, I'll go get the shoes!"
Isabelle nodded. She could already picture herself dancing on the streets of Paris in her new red shoes. Soon after, Madame Dubois returned with a pair of shiny red leather shoes. Isabelle quickly swapped them for her old, worn-out ones. The new shoes fit perfectly and felt incredibly comfortable.
Just as Isabelle was about to leave, Madame Dubois approached her again, this time with a strange expression. "Isabelle," she said, "there's one more thing. When you were in the yard, I saw Monsieur Jacques, the baker, digging a hole in the middle of the night."
Isabelle tilted her head. "And?"
"I… I don't know," Madame Dubois replied. "It was strange, wasn't it? He usually only digs holes to plant flowers, but he did it in a rush and in secret."
"Maybe he's hiding his secret cookie recipe in the ground," Isabelle said sarcastically, but her curiosity was beginning to grow. She imagined the hole held a treasure chest, and she could take a share for herself. This could be an exciting little adventure, and she would get her part of it.
Isabelle sighed. She glanced at her new red shoes, then looked toward the bakery at the end of the street. Other whispers from the fantasy creatures started to return, but this time they sounded more mysterious. She touched her tote bag. Inside, the small crystal flickered, as if waiting for her to uncover something.
Isabelle decided to find out. She let her feet take their first steps in her new red shoes, steps that led her toward a new, small mystery.
She wasn't a fortune-teller who predicted great things, but she was a seer who could uncover the small mysteries hidden behind the everyday life of Paris.