Tessa read her horoscope every morning before she even checked the news. Sometimes before brushing her teeth. She followed a small astrology blog run by a woman named CelestiaMoon333, who signed each post with a star emoji and the phrase: “The universe whispers, and I translate.”

Tessa believed that.

When it said “Avoid water today, dear Pisces,” she canceled her swim class and refused to shower.

When it warned “Someone close to you is hiding something,” she ghosted her best friend of ten years.

When it claimed “You are standing at a crossroads — only one path leads to light,” she quit her job with no backup plan.

She lived by the sky, even when it made no sense.

Even when it hurt.

The day it said “Today is not for travel. Stay rooted, stay safe,” she missed her grandmother’s funeral.

The day it said “Trust the stranger. They carry your next chapter,” she let a man into her apartment who said he was selling essential oils. He wasn’t.

Her friends stopped asking her to go out.

Her landlord stopped calling — just posted the eviction notice.

But she didn’t blame herself.

She blamed Mercury.

She blamed Saturn.

One morning, her horoscope said, “Let go of everything. Begin again. Fire cleanses.”

Tessa emptied her apartment.

Lit a match in the middle of the living room.

Stood back.

Watched.

She whispered, “The stars told me to.”

The fire did not answer.

It only consumed.

By the time the neighbors smelled the smoke,

by the time the sirens came,

there was nothing left to save—

just a scorched floor

and a phone open on her favorite astrology blog,

frozen on the next line she never got to read:

“Just kidding, Pisces. Maybe don’t take things so literally today 😅💫”

(I know this is rather grim, I’m in a mood)