Page 151 of To Ashes and Dust
The room looked nothing like the rest of the building. There was no glass, no color. The stone was carved just as intricately, the pillars and walls stretching up to the dome high above. It wasn’t the lack of glass or the stone that left me speechless—it was the towering nearly fossilized dead trees growing into the walls, stretching hundreds of feet to the dome above. Countless threads were woven in a web across the massive chamber, crossing and overlapping in every direction, some intertwined in the branches of the trees.
The threads of fate.
“He comes, sisters,” a soft, melodic voice echoed before me, near dripping with excitement. I turned my gaze to the center of the room where every thread intersected like a web, to find three females.
“Approach, Lord of Shadows,” one of them said from where she sat on a golden framed chaise, the voice just as soft and melodic, but far calmer than the first, proper and refined.
I hesitated, wary. Were these the Fates? I’d been told horror stories as a child of three crones, misshapen and deformed, ancient beings who would string up and eat unwelcome trespassers. These were no old crones, creatures so deformed and decrepit that they could scarcely be considered Elythians. Before me were three beautiful females, identical in every way. Their hair fell in ashen blonde waves down their backs, complex braids woven through their loose curls. Bangs dusted large eyes that were almost the same color as their hair, their skin a grayish tone.
One stood at a small table, giggling as she poured something into a goblet. “I think he is unsure of us, sisters.”
“We are not the creatures of your nursemaid’s tales, Lord of Shadows.” This voice was different. While the other two were a strange opposition of cheery and childish, proper and level, this one was... somber, sad even. She lifted her sorrowful eyes to me from behind the proper one, whose hair she was braiding. A glint caught my eyes, and I noticed a pair of golden scissors tucked into her braids. “We will not eat you.”
It felt like an invasion, her words reigniting those very tales my nursemaidhadtold me as a child.
“You’re too cute to eat.” The cheerful one giggled once more, taking a sip of the goblet before setting it down. “No, I could think of far more entertaining things to do with you.”
I ignored the comment as her eyes roamed over me.
The cheerful one stiffened at the table as her gaze snapped to me, eyes lighting with something I couldn’t place. “You have a gift for us.”
I blinked. “What?”
“A gift,” the somber one said, her sad eyes roaming down my body. “In your pocket.”
What were they talking about? I reached into my coat and froze.
They have lots, but I thought they might like the colors.
Aurelia’s words danced across my thoughts as I pulled the braid she’d given me just hours before from my pocket. My gaze fell to the cord resting in my palm, and I looked up to the countless threads intertwining above us. Any words I might have said halted on my tongue as my mind spiraled. How could Aurelia have known I’d come here tonight? I hadn’t even known myself until I’d spoken with Selene.
“Oh, it’s so colorful,” Clotho said, and I jerked back as she appeared before me, eyes locked on the colorful braid. She took it from my hand, reappearing next to the chaise, whispering to her sisters. “It is her, sisters.”
“You know Aurelia?” I asked. Gods, I was such an idiot. Of course they knew her.
“The fallen star made flesh again,” Lachesis said as she took the cord, inspecting the threads. "A child just as unnatural as Moira.”
Unnatural? I stepped forward, opening my mouth to question further.
“You’re late,” the refined one said, ending the conversation that had barely begun as she set the braided cord in her lap. She leveled her gaze on me, as if I’d disappointed her.
I wanted to ask more, wanted to know what they knew about Aurelia, but time was limited. The cheerful one’s eyes glittered as if hoping I’d ask a question.
“I didn’t know I had an appointment,” I said flatly.
“Oh, we’ve waited for you for centuries,” the cheerful one said, glancing to her sisters. Their demeanors seemed to be the only way I would be able to tell these three apart.
“Then you know what I’ve come for.”
“Of course—wait.” The cheerful one glanced at her sisters again. “Is this the timeline where he asks for help with saving Moira, or the timeline where he seeks to aid the assassin—”
“You speak too openly, Clotho,” the refined one said, lifting her chin as the one at her back continued to braid her hair. “He knows nothing, and it must remain that way. We cannot intercede.”
Assassin? I tried not to linger on her words, but what did they mean by timelines? Did they not know what date it was?
“You’re no fun, Lachesis.” The cheerful one, Clotho, pouted, crossing her arms.
“And you’re too cheerful, Clotho,” the somber one said, her tone level and somber.
