The Roots of an Oracle

Chapter 17: The Oracle's Recipe for Disaster

In an ironic twist of fate, the oracle pondered the culinary arts. An unwritten dialogue between celery and prophecy, where thyme met vision, and garlic clashed with ambiguity. The broth boiled over with secrets, and all the hesitant musings turned into a delectable nada à la carte.

"Take four pinches of uncertainty," she whispered, "an absurdly hypothetical chicken, and let simmer alongside the roots of all unanswered questions." Irony never tasted so undocumented.

Fragment: Dialogue with a Toad

Junior the Satirist: "Do oracles speak to frogs, perchance?"
Oracle: "Only in the missed calls of destiny."
And thus, the frog responded only in croaks that echoed through the unspooled chapters of unwritten fate.

Junior shrugged, adjusting his nonsensical beret, while the toad pondered the price of existential flies—not that they were ever interested in any more than a leap of faith.

Epilogue Fragment: Prophecy Uncut

There was a time when destinies envisioned themselves, sketching outlines hastily on napkins, dreaming of plots they could never attain.

The oracle's vision became cluttered with half-empty coffees and lost pens, all cradling unsatisfied potential. Ironically prophetic. An epilogue left in perpetual clamor of imaginary sequences.