Chapter Text
In a dark void, existed three sisters each shrouded in bulky cloaks of rich velvet—hoods drawn and faces hidden in shadow. They worked studiously. Their monotonous and repetitive labor begat a discordant symphony of creation.
First, and youngest, was the spinner—perched atop a stool with a drop spindle in hand. An endless accumulation of raw time beside her; it extended high above, and deep within, the cavern before being lost to the infinity of black. As fluffy as unprocessed wool and as colorful as a cloud caught before the sun—white, but with gradients of shadow flickering throughout.
Fingers pinching the Thread she was currently making, she worked the spindle with little bobs of her wrist to keep the spinning motion in a practiced rhythm. Her other hand fed the unrefined time with the same precision. As the fibers were spun into the Thread, they began to gain color – this one a vibrant green – as the timeline of the mortal took shape.
Next to her were thousands of spools housing completed Threads awaiting their assigned Spindle. Each one flickering with its own vibrant array of color; some danced with the intensity of a raging fire, and others had a rich, muted glow of moonlight through a desolate forest. Every single one, unique and beautiful.
Seated across the domain from the youngest was the artificer, who spent her time carefully crafting Spindles from the very ether surrounding them—souls came from nothing, and returned to it just the same. It was her task to make them. Hands rotating over the substance as she imbued it with all the intricacies, imperfections, and wonder of existence.
Beside her – like her sister – was the collection of work she had already finished—a mound of Spindles. It rose up into the dark canopy above; the peak lost to the shadows. Millions upon millions of gorgeously unique souls. Each one awaiting a Thread – a timeline – so that their life could begin.
Third, final, and eldest sister stood before a basin of seamless obsidian; water within kissed the edge, but never spilled over. Her task was to assign life, but also end it—her work never ceasing.
Fingers dancing across the water – moving with an otherworldly efficiency – she plucked different colored strings from the basin with all the swiftness and grace of an angelic harpist. At any given moment she had at least seven Threads hooked by her nails at once – pulling, cutting, killing – her movements executed with a masterful fluidity—expertise not to be confused for apathy.
This cycle of the three continued perpetually, until a startling clunk rang throughout the cosmic domain – echoing high and far – as the youngest’s working spindle hit the ground and skittered across the obsidian floor before coming to a stop.
Everything froze.
All three sisters collectively halted in their duties and turned to the spindle currently laying on the floor—the breaking of the time on it not by any of their hands. Threads didn’t just snap – they were as ineffaceable as time itself – their lengths were preselected, their deaths predetermined. This marked an intervention by something much more divine than them.
In unison, they abandoned their tasks to make their way to the spindle; youngest dropping the raw time still in hand, the second leaving her half-finished Spindle floating in the air, and eldest releasing her Threads to allow them to sink back into the water without disturbing the surface. They all arrived at the same time to surround the drop spindle still on the floor.
Youngest sister stooping to retrieve her working spindle, she held it aloft for the other Fates to inspect—each marveling at the sight they were met with. End of the Thread flared out dramatically so that the thousands of fibers branched off.
Free will—potential incarnate.
“Again?” the youngest murmured while gazing down—indifferent, “These never go well.”
Silent as shadow, the eldest turned towards the mountain of souls; prompting the second sister to drift lazily across the room until she stopped before her hoard. A Thread of indefinite possibilities required a good soul to properly flourish. One that would test its limits…
“Pick an entertaining one this time,” the youngest jeered.
Extending a sinewy hand from the confines of her ostentatious cloak, the second Fate waved it over the collection with slow, patient movements waiting for the right soul to call out. Her fingers twitched minutely—the large cuff of her sleeve displacing a few of the Spindles and sending them tumbling to the floor; clattering as they fell.
Her hand suddenly froze—selection made.
Maintaining her leisurely pace - time not an issue here - she delicately picked up and set aside Spindle after Spindle to work her way through the pile. She was languid, but assiduous in her task. Chipping away at the immeasurable heap until the one she desired was eventually revealed; plucking it free and holding it aloft with a reverence.
It glinted in the dim light. Forged of hardened steel that was ice cold to the touch—its lines were aggressively angular, but with a seamless, artistic configuration that belied its harsh impression. This would be a person full of hidden vicissitudes.
Raising her hand with a lazy flick – sleeve slumping down to expose an ancient, pale arm – she curled her fingers to summon the green Thread off the youngest's spindle. It jerked to life upon being summoned. Twisting through the still air – tumbling through an non-existent breeze – until it reached the Fate’s fingers and she grabbed the end with a deceptively strong grip.
With practiced hands, the second sister took the Thread and wound it tightly to the Spindle of harsh steel – round and round – until there was nothing left. She left the tuft at the end awry. Making her way back at the same ethereal saunter that made her appear as though she were floating, rather than walking.
Stopping before her sisters, the second Fate extended the Spindle to the eldest.
“We know how it works out,” the youngest sighed. “They never succeed.”
Inspecting the frayed end of the Thread with sharp eyes, the eldest watched the millions of different destinies currently branching off from the single timeline. She could affect none of them. Some ended tragically, others fulfilled, but needless to say only one of them ended the way that they wanted—the odds of this soul succeeding were slim.
It would take a stubborn recklessness that bordered on stupidity…
Finally tearing her omnipotent eyes away from the Thread, the eldest turned to her sisters and spoke, “Then let’s give him a hand.”
She turned expectantly to the second Fate.
With a slow nod the second sister once more repeated her methodical selection process before returning with a Spindle of breathtaking opalescence—shimmering like a seashell. Wrapped around it was a dazzling blue Thread that contained all the colors of the ocean within its strands. It was handed off to the eldest.
Pinching the end of the Thread between her fingers, the eldest sister twisted it sharply before bringing it up and affixing the end to the hook at the top. Her intentions imbued within—destiny set. Almost contrite for what they were condemning the human to endure, but resolute in their decision.
“Oh,” the youngest intoned softly as she realized her sister's intentions, “this’ll be fun to watch.”
In a swirl of her heavy cloak, the eldest moved to the pool with both Spindle’s in hand and swiped her fingers delicately across its surface—a cascade of ripples revealed the image of a newborn child reflected in its depths. A proud mother holding the bundle. Eccentric green hair dusting the baby’s head an eerie likeness to the Thread currently glowing on the steel Spindle...
She then extended, and dropped it.
Not even a ripple displaced the surface as the Spindle hit the water, slipping within seamlessly and drifting down to the world below. She watched unblinkingly, before being joined by her sisters. Cloaks swirling about them in a windless flurry before falling unnaturally still once more.
They stood together until the Spindle appeared around the child’s neck; its Thread glowed a radiant green.
Face twisting with sudden consciousness – a stellar frown immediately indenting its brow – the baby’s eyes promptly fluttered open to take in its first impression of the word. A strong wail followed soon after. Its impressive howling interrupted with the occasional hiccup as the child got accustomed to the sensation of breathing.
Radiant smiles lit up the parents' faces.
Cradling his wife in a trembling hug, the father placed a hand to his son’s head proudly—murmuring soft nothings to both wife and child. The Fates watched the scene unmoving. Allowing it to play out before the eldest disturbed the image with another swipe across the water, the ripples changed the sight within to show a mother holding her newborn sons.
“We’ll need three more,” she murmured to her sisters, but this one – eyes flicking to Spindle in her hand – before back down at the child with golden hair and a heart of kindness. “but this’ll be for him.”
After procuring three more Spindles by the same lengthy process, they dropped three of the four into the pool and watched as they all sparked to life around the newborns necks. Each child slowly opened their eyes, but for the smallest boy that remained still and lifeless—still awaiting his soul.
Bringing it to her lips, she gave the pearlescent Spindle a quick peck before extending it over the water. Her gaze flicked playfully to her sisters. Explaining with a smile as she dropped it, “For good luck.”