Nine months. That is how long the expecting mother had been both dreading and looking forward to the birth of her child. Nine months of worrying and waiting, praying to the gods for a healthy baby who would be blessed with a long and prosperous life. Nine months of wondering what it would be like to stand in the presence of the great and powerful Moirai.
It was known across the lands that the Moirai, the three fates, visited expecting mothers the day they gave birth to their new babies. Their visit always brought a mixture of feeling as none knew what the outcome would be. The Moirai came to determine the destiny of this new child coming to greet the world, deciding how long the child would live, what they would become and to what end they would meet when their life eventually ended. Some were given long lives in which they lived with great health, falling sleep in their old age and slipping away peacefully in the night while others were given lives riddled with disease, causing their existence to be that of pain and suffering until their bodies finally gave out.
There was no mystery as to why such mixed feelings were swirling in the expecting mother's mind as she felt the first pangs of labor low in her belly. And nobody questioned her fears as her water broke, knowing well it meant her new baby would be pushing into the world this very day. As they lay her down on the mattress of straw and she begged for the doors to be locked in an effort to keep the fates at bay, none batted an eye, simply following direction before welcoming the new babe to an uncertain fate.
The cries of the baby boy echoed through the small room as the new mother looked down at her son, sweat dotting her forehead from the complicated labor. A smile curved her lips as he settled into her arms, his large dark eyes looking up at her in return. Though the doors were locked fast and the windows shuttered, the room suddenly felt more full, and when the new mother looked up, the Moirai stood at the foot of her bed, looking down at her new son.
A look of shock crossed her face at the sight of the three fates. One was a child holding a spindle from which she spun a deep crimson thread, the second a curvy woman who held the thread between her hands as if to measure the length of it, and the last an old woman who studied the thread in one hand, shears in another as she poised to cut the thread. They seemed so ordinary to look upon, but the new mother was not fooled. She knew well who this trio was and what business they had here.
"Dearest Moirai, please have mercy on my son! He is all I have in this dark and cruel world. His father fell ill and perished only months ago, leaving me here alone. My son... he is everything to me," she pleaded, though her words fell upon deaf ears. The fates didn't so much as look at her, instead arguing amongst themselves of what this child would become.
"He is son to a wretched man," the old woman, Atropos, spoke sharply, her voice deep as it cut through the otherwise silent room. "We end his life before he has a chance to live; a testament to the godless life his father lived."
"No!"" The little girl, Clotho, stomped her feet as she stood straight, her dark eyes piercing into the milky gaze of Atropos. "He is a baby! Give him a chance to know and fear the gods, then you can decide." Clotho made an arguement for the innocent babe, her arms crossing over her chest defiantly as she looked at the two older fates.
"You have not spun enough thread for such a life," Lachesis, the most beautiful of all of them, added as she looked down at Clotho. "There is little choice if you do not provide more thread for us to lengthen his life. Otherwise he will die just as Atropos says; he will not live beyond the day."
Huffing, Clotho took up her spindle and wool, pulling at the bundle in order to create more thread. Moving the thread through her hands, Lachesis studied and counted silently as she determined how long the boy would live. All the while, the new mother pleaded for the fates to have mercy on her son.
Finally, Atropos looked at the new mother, her milky gaze unfocused but dangerous. "For every plea you utter, your son will see one less summer," she sneered, snipping her shears together as if to add emphasis to her point. The new mother didn't know if the fates would be so cruel, but she did not tempt them. Instead, she fell into silence as they finished their bizarre ritual.
The unrefined wool was spun into a beautiful, silken thread which stretched between the three fates like a string of crimson blood. Each one muttered to the other as they decided what to do with this new babe. After a few moments, Lachesis looked up at the mother, offering her a gentle smile. "It is decided. Your son will live to see thirty summers; no more and no less. He will have sickness from time to time, though will recover. If he is to succeed in this life, he must know the gods and pray to them each day for forgiveness of his father's sins. To ignore the gods will only add to his suffering."
Looking down at the mother, the three fates prayed over the new thread of life, enchanting it to reflect the words Lachesis spoke. The new mother looked on with wide eyes as the thread started to glow brighter and brighter in the fates' hands, it growing so bright she had to turn her eyes away, shielding them from the intense light. And when it died away, she dropped her arm, expecting to see the fates there. The room was empty, void of all but the mother and her new babe. The fates had been called away; the birth of a new child beckoned them on to decide the destiny of another.
♥️ Credits ♥️
♥️ Story and coding by Celestial
♥️ Profile art by Celestial
♥️ Lines by odduckOasis
♥️ Fonts from DaFont
♥️ God of War III background from here
♥️ Story based on Greek mythology of Moirai
♥️ Art ♥️