The fortune teller didn't look into the crystal ball. Or anywhere, for that matter. His eyes were open, but glazed, unfocused. His hands shook above the ball, and Brandy was certain she saw some lightning crackle inside it.

He spoke, his frail voice suddenly loud and commanding. "Cometh springtide, thou shalt find true love."

For the next four months, Brandy's troubles were forgotten; all her self doubt, her hatred of her own stupid, too-high voice and ugly, broken nose. None of it mattered. Because when the spring came, she'd find someone who thought she was special; someone who didn't mind a crooked nose or a face with too many freckles. Eventually, she even started to like her freckles. They gave her face character, after all. Uniqueness. And the nose wasn't so crooked. And her voice; well, nobody was perfect, right? The whole village noticed the new spring in her step.

One day, Brandy saw geese returning from the south.

"It's spring," she whispered, tears of joy in her eyes.

But the months kept passing, and on the day before June, Brandy ran to the fortune teller sobbing.

"You told me I'd find him come spring, and summer is near upon us!" 

The old man chuckled. "I never said you'd find a man! I said you'd find true love!"

Brandy gazed at him through confused, tear-filled eyes. "You mean. . .I should have looked for a friend, not a lover?"

"No! It was you, dearest Brandy! Didn't you learn to love your freckles?"

Brandy was more confused than ever; and then, suddenly, it was crystal clear.

"Love of myself, " she whispered, "the truest love there is."

The old man smiled. "True happiness comes only from within."

Brandy smiled back. She'd never thank him enough.