On the midnight eve of despair, when your wretched soul yearns for relief, beware Pisces. Luna, in her silken shroud of mystery, casts shadows of the portentous nature over the fabric of your existence. The spectral mermaid, your celestial totem, shimmers in perilous depths, calling attention to your palpable isolation. Thy own sphere of influence, awash in the regal blue of solitaire, whispers tales of encroaching dread.

The rippling tides of your existence will surge with unfathomable undertow, pulling you into the bowels of uncertainty. There shall be figures, nebulous and unkind, lurking upon the fringe your own madness. Do not evade the confrontation, rather nurture the perverse curiosity at the heart of the fray. Gemini’s twins in thine eighth house, blindfolded by the bitter tapestry of betrayal, presage ambiguity. This ambiguity, like carnivorous tendrils creeping down your spine in the bleak midnight hour, will be your doom or salvation, dependent upon the manner in which you cast your quivering gaze upon it.