Page 20 of Until Death
Moving closer, a crack slowly appears in the stone, widening to allow me entry.
My hands clench at my sides as I glance behind me at the raven-covered trees as they watch me before peering into the utter darkness of their lair. My own shadows do not even dare to enter without my direct order.
If it were not for Hazel, I would turn back. I would leave this cursed place and never again darken its doorstep, let alone cross its threshold.
But this is for her.
And for her, I would face a thousand evils for even the slightest hope of joy returned to her.
Taking a deep breath in, I exhale heavily before stepping into the dark crevice.
As soon as I have stepped inside, the crack seals behind me and the pitch-black darkness lifts as a blinding light fills the space instead.
My steps falter as I squint against the light, and it takes a few moments before I am able to see anything at all. When my vision finally clears, I am standing in the center of a circular room filled with thousands upon thousands of candles.
The walls are made of the same stone as the outside of the dwelling, but carved into intricate works of art that catch and hold the light as it dances across them.
Before me are two sets of stairs, one leading up and the other leading down into the depths of the mountain. Each staircase seems to disappear into its respective destination.
"Death," calls out a soft voice in my head, and my stomach twists at the sickeningly sweet beauty of it. "You have finally come."
I watch as a woman’s bare foot comes into view on the stairs above, slowly descending to reveal the rest of her to me.
She is draped in a flowing white dress that appears to shift and swirl around her like a living thing, the hem dragging across the stone floor with each step. Her hair is a cascade of gold, tumbling all the way to her feet in soft waves.
Her beauty is terrible to behold, just as unnatural and contrived as the smile that she sends my way.
“Clotho,” I say, her name falling bitterly from my lips even as I try to keep my tone neutral.
She descends the final step, gliding across the room to stand before me. Her power is palpable, thrumming in the air around her like a living thing. I can feel it reaching out to touch me, to test me, and I stand tall under the weight of it.
“Come,” she beckons, her voice resounding in my mind as she gestures toward the stairs leading into the mountain’s heart. “My sisters are waiting for us.”
I have to stave off a shudder of repulsion as I watch her slowly turn to make her way down the second flight of stairs before following after her. As we descend, the candles lining the walls flicker and dance, casting eerie shadows across the stone. The air grows thicker, the weight of the Fates' presence almost suffocating.
Reaching the next floor, we step into another cavernous room cut out of the side of the cliffside, a gaping hole at the far end looking out over the Underworld and the sheer drop below.
At the very center of the space is a circular loom, carved from a single massive tree, its roots and branches twisted up in wild chaos to allow for the intricate weaving of thread. Sitting around it are two women, identical in every way to their sister except for the colors of their hair and the threads they hold in their hands.
Lachesis, with hair as dark as the night sky, holds a thread that glows with an otherworldly silver light. Atropos, with hair as pale as moonlight, twists a thread that pulses with a deep red hue.
“Death has finally come to call on us, sisters,” Clotho announces, her voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, her lips never once moving.
“As we knew he would,” comes another voice, this one darker, but no less nauseating. A voice that can only belong to Atropos.
"You are looking well, Death," the third voice says, this one quieter than the others. Lachesis, perhaps the most tolerable of the lot, though her lips still tilt up in a sly smirk that makes my skin crawl.
"I have been better," I reply, my voice colder than I intended.
Her smirk widens, and I can see the amusement in her eyes at this. The three sisters share a look at this, relishing in my discomfort.
“Of course, you would not be here otherwise,” Atropos says.
“We have been expecting you for a long while now,” Lachesis adds as Clotho joins them at the loom. “How cruel it is that fate kept you from us for so long.”
I grit my teeth together at this, struggling to keep my temper in check as my eyes move over the three women. I know they are trying to provoke me to rage, but I will not allow myself to do so.
Not yet.
