The two cards I got at the Salon that inspired the story had the text:
“There is no truth, Only wagers.”
“Guts make the finest music.”
Read “Maya’s Harp” on Patreon (available for all Patreon supporters from $1 level and up).
Maya didn’t quite know what to make of her fancy new harp. She had given up on playing it at the bar since it always caused a big stir, so big that it was barely even worth the free drinks it got her. Instead, she’d taken to playing it in the afternoons after her shift at the recycling depot, but strange things always seemed to happen whenever she strummed the strings. Flocks of seagulls—the big sea-faring ones—would cry and gather outside her ramshackle trailer. Black cormorants would arrive, flapping their wide wings as they landed on the tottering fence in her yard, eyes gleaming in the sun. Once, she even found a chittering cluster of crabs lurking outside her door, claws clacking on the trailer’s metal steps as they scuttled away.
Granted, her place was near the docks, close enough that she could always smell the salt and seaweed, and the rot of low tide, but nothing like this had ever happened until the harp.