Three Men and One Woman, All Single

I'm the protagonist, and my ability is prophetic dreams. You can call me a dream girl.

This is my employer, a holy official with the authority to pass judgment. He's from the imperial capital's central district, generous, and rolling in money. He says his "holy light is powerful," so for now I'll call him Bro Light.

Bro Light is investigating something I happened to dream about a few days ago, so I volunteered to join him and earn some extra cash along the way. But I soon realized my abilities were limited, and Bro Light's were too. If we kept charging in like this, we'd probably get ourselves killed.

Better to call in backup, just to be safe.

I convinced Bro Light to hire the strongest local diviner: a descendant of Cassandra, with a famous reputation, an uncanny talent for telling fortunes and predicting good or bad luck, and prices just as outrageous as his talent.

Fortunately, Bro Light didn't mind. He took one look at the diviner's face and said the money was well spent.

I actually knew the diviner. We go way back, and I get a cut of every big job I send his way. Of course, I wasn't ripping Bro Light off. The divinations really were accurate. Give him enough information, and he could figure out anything, from warding off evil and misfortune to predicting your future husband.

The only flaw was that he was mute.

You know how divination goes: unless it's a simple choice between two options, the results are usually obscure. You need a conversation and some deduction to make a decision and see through the fog of the future.

But while divining, a mute can't take his hands off the crystal ball.

So he has a special trick: writing with his feet.

I know it's funny, but don't laugh yet.

Seriously, don't laugh. He can predict the exact date you'll die.

The three-person team set out!

First night: an expedition into the underground labyrinth!

Total party wipe.

At the last possible moment, a figure swift as a streak of lightning against dark clouds rescued us and quickly led us to safety.

We emerged from a sewer entrance onto the surface. I recognized the place: the library on the town's south plaza. Our rescuer was the librarian with the highest level of access in the entire building.

"Come in," he said coldly, leading the three of us weaklings to his private dorm room, where a fireplace was burning.

He was so handsome, so reliable, so warm, so reassuring!

I fell in love with him at first sight.

After the incident was resolved, I poured everything I knew into writing him a love letter. My writing was average, but the contents were bold and explicit. I hoped to move him, or, failing that, seduce him.

I never expected him to come find me the next day with the confession letter in hand and ask what it said.

"I can't read," he said.

"Do librarians have to be able to read?" he asked.

"Hurry up and read it to me," he urged.

Theme: Nobody is perfect. Everyone has their flaws.