At one end, the face you meet the world with. Across the axis, the spot where your life quietly knits itself together. Your Part of Fortune, worked out from the Ascendant, the Sun, and the Moon by sect, faces your rising horizon, and each pole names what the other lacks. The way you arrive keeps straining across the gap toward where you actually settle. Some days the mask you put on at the door carries you far from the ground that fits you. Other days you guard that fit so tightly you never step out to meet a soul. The mirror keeps both ends roped together. Where you belong and how you arrive have to keep answering each other across that distance.