Clotho spun the threads of fate and her hand did not waver.
Her sisters, Lachesis and Atropos, were away at the moment. She wondered what they did when they didn't convene at the stool. Wondered, but sparingly. What her sisters did in their lives was of no concern to Clotho. She would spin the threads regardless, gazing into the thin fabric that was mortality.
Her heart skipped a beat - the most beautiful mortal appeared in her visage. Clotho witnessed beautiful mortals before, but this man was different. His being was pure, unique. His soul: incorruptible. She could not believe what she was witnessing.
Clotho felt something... something burning, something irresistible. She had never experienced such feelings before. They scared her. For she knew these were primal feelings. And primal aspects were known to be shared with mortals.
Was she... losing her powers?
Lachesis and Atropos appeared and Clotho felt caught. She of course wasn't. But her soul felt like it was ripping from her body as she continued to weave the threads of fate. She must've made a face as her sister inquired after her sanity. She gave her patented grumble and they left her be.
If only they knew...
Clotho could not stop thinking about the mortal. She would gaze upon him any chance she got. Clotho knew it was folly. But she decided to follow this new, primal feeling. Consequences be damned.
Being a seamstress for so long should've thought her that all good things come to an end. During a particular gazing session, Atropos noticed her sister's obsession with the mortal. What a fool Clotho was thinking her sisters paid no mind to her. She thought they were all three the same, she was wrong. She saw that in her sister's wroth. The inflexible noted her disdain for her Clotho's actions. Clotho denied them. But the more she tried the more she incriminated herself.
Atropos made it as clear as summer's day that she would cut the mortal's thread. Clotho took exception to this. At that moment, she experienced... something. Like something tearing into two. Breaking forever more.
She recognized it as another primal feeling and she acted accordingly.
Clotho could not beat her sister in battle, nor could she destroy her even if she wanted to. She also could not be with this mortal. Flights of fancies were just that - fancies. There was but one thing she could do. As her heart, and soul, and being screamed that she let it be.
She stopped tending the stool, picking up Atropos's scissors. Atropos stood aghast as her sister defied her duties. Clotho paid her no mind, only the thread... only the mortal...
She found him, lazily sleeping in a field of sunflowers. She spoke a word, a word that cannot be uttered by any mortal soul. Sorrowful yet tender. Atropo was going to end her mortal's life, but Clotho would not give her that satisfaction. Clotho felt her fingers slowly cut the thread. Watched as a hungry pack of predators advanced on her favorite. Then looked away.
Clotho placed the scissors into Atropos's palms. She returned to her stool a bit less.
The sisters did not speak of that event again. But they felt it. And Clotho would only grow more callous as the millennia passed.
Clotho would spin the threads of fate, her hand forever wavering.
This is the first draft of the story. Written by Jovan Gjorgjiev, ©️ 2023.
Obligatory shout-out to the 🍕PIZZA🍕 gang, 🤙 gang. 🤙
Kinda feel like I used the prompt in an obvious way. 😅 I also challenged myself to not use a single line of dialogue. More of an exercise than anything else. I've sued dialogue too much as a crotch as is. Hope you guys and gals enjoyed it regardless! Any Greek mythology lovers out there? 👋
👊 Follow me on my HIVE blog 👊
Cover image source.
I hope you have a fantastic day! 🙌
Return from Fated to Јоцко's Web3 Blog
