Prophecy Wreckers, Local 182
"See this?" The union Chief waved a battered tome. "This is why prophecies are vaguely-worded and open to interpretation. These 'nice and accurate' prophecies are going to be the end of us!"
The Chair opened it at random. The first prophecy her finger fell on read, "Ygnorre thif ye daft olde fool. Thif if being myne gift to myne defendantf."
"Er," said a fellow member, reading over the Chair's shoulder. "I think she knew about us..."
"What makes you say that?" said the Chief.
"This one that says, I knowe alle about thee. I'm pretty certain she didn't intend to be trouble, too."
"We are a union of prophecy breakers, Kevynne."
"Er," she said. "But... Um. These are all about her family? She's like... looking after them posthumously?"
"It's still a prophecy," said the Chief. "We have to break it. Fate is not meant to be in the eyes of mortal man."
"And-um... there's this envelope for you? Chief Sana?"
It was yellowed and frail, but the Chief opened it anyway. And read what was inside. He turned deathly pale and fled for his life.
"All those in favour of returning this book to its owner?" risked the Chair.
That Agnes Nutter. What a card.