“I scry a wishbone there,
where a backbone ought to be,
Your days are sown with fear beware,
And hearken child of Eve to me!

If thou wilt be thought fair of face,
Shadow will hang over thee,
Keep your courage tucked up near
And soon disaster you will see.

My curse upon you, hear me well,
Within the span of year and day,
Thy path wilt lead to heaven or hell,
Oh what have those four seasons to tell!

If fire burns within your heart,
And you’ll no bend your knee,
Then beauty you shall ever have,
And peace, and love, my sweetest pea.”

The last thing she heard was a disturbingly horse whisper.

“Grow a spine, little JellyFish. Grow a spine.”