The Diviner accepted her embrace in stunned silence. And after some time, they managed another "I'm sorry."
"I didn't come here to listen to you apologize, you old fool." She smiled wide. "Let's make up for lost time. I've still got plenty left, don't I?"
"Your future hasn't changed. You will not find love. Why come here?"
She laughed again, shaking her head. "When I was a girl, I would have thought you were telling me that to get me to go away... Now I realize you're just dense, bless your heart."
The Diviner saw that she had lived a lonely life. "I'm sorry."
"You should be," she chuckled. "So, I've got a few candidates today. There's the gentleman at the post office--or, actually, let's start with that waiter I always tip extra." She whispered, "He's a tad young though."
The Diviner had lost track of the seasons by the time their next visitor appeared: an old woman with familiar eyes and a cheerful voice. In her hand was a paper shopping bag filled to the brim with snacks.
"I'm here to fulfill a prophecy," she said.
This, they confessed, had been one of their idle inquiries. They had gazed into the fire, into the future of the lovesick girl, and seen a lovesick old woman, sitting in her usual spot, waiting on another divination. This sad routine would continue until the end of her life.
"Wait! Can't you see that?" She went to write a new query, energized by the realization.
But with sudden urgency, the Diviner gripped her arm. Their head hung low. Their voice, now a whisper, warned her, "The truth is unkind."
"It's a dull task, I confess. On occasion, I pass the hours with trivial inquiries into the fire."
The girl leaned close. "About cute guys."
"No."
And they laughed together the rest of the evening.
The Diviner sat still, remembering.
"In a time of war, my power was given by the gods to benefit your people. Now, the need has expired. I have looked long into the future and seen peace. But the fire of knowledge cannot be extinguished. I remain its guardian."