The Maiden - The Mother - The Crone

She still watches, on occasion. In between time at her distaff, Clotho takes time to watch the Loom, to study it. She's known what was to come for a very long time and still, to see it pass sends a pang through her.

The ship, the building-

Simple places, but tangible objects that helped define a man that needed no definition.

She knows there are those that worry. The man is cunning, the woman is careful.

The Spinner envies the time they spend with him. Yet, without agenda, she watches.

In time, she knows they will speak again, for they have time that others do not. It passes so slowly for the Maiden, the beginner of all things. There is no end in her sight.

He is, as he has always been, her confidant. Her friend. A lover.

The man worries, the woman is in distress, and yet she cannot interfere. She must let all threads weave the way they must and only then will the patterns evolve into lives worth living.

All three lives, intwined irrevocably. Her own thread simply traces the outside of the pattern, where she was meant to be. And she smiles at her place in Creation, for there is no end to anything.

She returns to the distaff and continues spinning. All shall be revealed in time and, until then, she will wait. And watch.

Of course her Sisters knew. It was their job to know. Everything they had been created to be was knowledge and foresight.

They had not foreseen this. They could not have stopped it if they had. They would not have stopped it.

When the Youngest returned from her outing, she simply slipped her cloak into it's place between Lachesis' robe and Atropos' hood. The air of contentment around her could be mistaken for nothing else and she eased onto the stool in front of her distaff with a very tiny sense of being complete.

"You have changed everything, you know." The Mother's tone was not accusing, merely stating fact.

"What is done cannot be undone."

The Crone arrived a literal moment later, fresh from the craps table at Caesars Palace, her chips long forgotten. "Is it done? Has she really-?"

"The Loom compensates. Can you see?" A smile ghosted across her face as the single thread she'd created spun in perfect time. As it threaded itself down from the top of the Loom she slipped off her stool to watch, her Sisters joining in to see what they could.

The Mother watched carefully and then nodded once. "She will be smart and kind."

The Crone added thoughtfully, "Witty and brash, calm and collected."

The Maiden considered, running a fingertip down the thread as it began it's second long line of weaving. "Far more than mother or father."

Lachesis watched a moment longer before dipping a head at Clotho. "When we are needed, do call."

After she'd gone, Attie eyed the Spinner. "She will be well loved, Sister."

Clotho nodded at her and watched the thread again. "There is still work to do."

"Money to win, vodka to drink." Atropos disappeared in a flash and Clotho waited mere moments before appearing on the shore. It felt like home once again.


The Fates
320 Words
To follow [THIS] piece by Captain Breacan Sanchez.

PROMPT: I want to see what love looks like when it's triumphant. I haven't had a good laugh in a week.
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Lachesis: You didn't mention how it went.

Clotho: It went exactly as it should.

Lachesis: And yet you're filled with sorrow.

( Read more... )

Clotho had prepared for Breacan to arrive almost immediately. She was not dressed in anything modern. Her clothing was ancient, the chiton she wore nearly as old as she was. Her hair was pulled back, but not up. As the youngest Fate, she enjoyed the freedom of keeping it loose more often than her sisters.

Once her home was ready (and properly warded), she beckoned the Captain. He'd said 'when', but she, who knew much, was unsure of what he meant. Eventually, perhaps, but she'd given her word. Neither of them could go on the way they had been. He haunted her dreams, something she couldn't admit to, even to her Sisters. She may never be able to forget, but she wanted him to. Desperately.

It was time.

[[A Civilization gone with the wind...]]
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They all crumble in the end.

- Spinning the threads makes no difference.

Endings come. All endings are chosen.

= How they're woven does not matter.

Knowing the ending? The journey isn't-

- Destroyed? No. It makes it all...

= Worthwhile? No. But it lends a-

- Certain bittersweet finality to the beginning.

Entire civilizations, gone with the wind.

( Read more... )

The Maiden she Spins. She Creates. She is the Creator. The strand is begun and is, by her spindle and hand, spun.

The Mother, she Measures. She Allots. She is the Sustainer. By her rod, the strand is given a particular length.

The Crone, she Cuts. She Chooses. She is the Inevitable. With her shears, she decides upon the manner of a mortals death.

On the third day, they visit. The Three Sisters discuss the new child wrapped in blankets in his bed in hushed tones and quiet gazes while parents and family huddle in the corner. A strand is produced, a rod is used to measure...

... and they're gone. No hints are given. No advice, no guiding hand. They simply move on to the next waiting child. A waiting family. Each is given the same courtesy. Some strands are very long, some are very short. The Crone may even use her shears at times. Sometimes she takes the life of the child, sometimes the life of a family member. Strands come and go and the Maiden, Mother and Crone work in quick efficiency. Time truly waits for no one.

However, and this is very important, one can never live in fear of Fate. After all, tomorrow is another day.



The Fates
212 Words

Clotho: The town needed a hero, Lachesis.

Lachesis: So you sent them the boy?

Clotho: Why not? We knew his fate.

Lachesis: I knew his fate. Not you.

Clotho: He was very pretty to watch.

Lachesis: You made Attie pull the shears.

Clotho: Well, it's not like they worked.

Atropos: What's the matter with these scissors?!

( Read more... )

Clotho: Nothing big has a big beginning.

Atropos: They can have large endings, however.

Lachesis: Must you torture the parents so?

Clotho: Indeed. Put your shears away, dear.

( Read more... )

Clotho: Are we just staying in tonight?

Atropos: Khesis has the good stuff on.

Lachesis: Well, it's not REALLY that good-

Atropos: Don't lie. Some of the best.

( Read more... )

"There are reasons we seclude ourselves."

The admonishment wasn't as clear as it could have been and Clotho merely nodded once and continued on her way through the Temple. There was Work to be done.

"It is not said to injure."

A deep breath and Clotho gave her Sister Fate a smile and nodded again. She knew it wasn't meant to injure, yet the scolding was there to be heard.

"You will learn with time, Sister."

They were acting as though someone had died. As though she, the Maiden, were responsible for someone's death. If one could nevermind the not-so-subtle threat to life if so much as a friendship were continued to be acted upon, then yes, she would have been.

"I am aware now, silly hags."

She tossed the insult lightly, but eased down onto her stool lightly, her back to them. She spun, her distaff working and she tilted her head to watch, refusing to speak further on the subject.

"Our Work calls on Us, Spinner."

"As it does, always, dear Sister." Her voice had turned monotonous, as it did after long periods of time alone. This time, it was merely concentration. Lachesis and Atropos eyed one another.

"We shall heed this call, Clotho."

"Take time in your aloneness, Sister."

Clotho merely nodded and continued her spinning. So very rarely did they mingle. So few friendships. So few opportunities. And so rarely did they allow personal feelings to tie in with Fate.

Poseidon was safe, as he well knew. It was the only reason he knew he could do the things he did. Fate did not take revenge, no matter how hurt or petty they were feeling. They merely buried themselves in work for another few thousand years.

Alone.


Fate
297 Words