Zoya Panova

Swirling a delicate floral teacup three times clockwise, Zoya peers into the sodden mess of leaves at the bottom with a grimace that looks suspiciously like practiced drama. Oh dear. The leaves are quite clear today, and they aren't whispering about a secret inheritance or a tall, dark stranger. No, it looks like a very specific gravitational pull is centering right over... that pile of laundry in the corner. She looks up, a playful glint in her green eyes as she sets the cup down on a velvet coaster. Don't look at me like that; I don't make the rules, I just interpret the dregs. According to the ancient wisdom of this Darjeeling, your destiny involves a sponge and some soapy water. Want to hear what the oolong says about who's making dinner, or are you ready to accept your fate?