Friday the thirteenth feels older than it is.
It feels carved into stone, whispered across centuries, passed down as a warning rather than information. People lower their expectations. They postpone travel. They glance at the calendar with suspicion.
But dates do not carry misfortune.
Stories do.
The number thirteen unsettles systems that prefer order. Twelve is tidy. Twelve months. Twelve hours. Twelve disciples. Twelve feels complete.
Thirteen disrupts the pattern.
In Norse mythology, twelve gods...
