Note: Just got the edits for The Laurel. I’m so excited to share this new book with you guys. I really hope you enjoy it!
In a dark cave filled with multicolored strings and golden cords that hummed with power sat The Moirae—three sisters—daughters of Zeus and the Titaness Themis: Clotho the Spinner, Lachesis the Allotter, and Atropos the Inexorable. Each one with her purpose, each one with a task that must never end.
Clotho, the youngest of the three, must forever spin the thread of life from her distaff onto her spindle. She was called upon at the ninth month of pregnancy when life must come forth. Lachesis, the middle sister, was tasked to take the thread and measure it, for she decided how long a person would live. Atropos, the eldest of the three, was the cutter of the thread. She chose the way a person was destined to die. Her golden shears were always sharp and ready.
Lachesis watched Clotho out of the corner of her eye and frowned.
“What are you doing?” Lachesis asked while she continued to measure the cord.
“What I always do. I spin,” Clotho replied. Her brown eyes never leaving the task at hand.
“That’s not wool thread, nor is it the golden thread that belongs to the gods,” Lachesis pointed out.
“I know,” Clotho replied.
“Then what are you spinning?”
“I spin a tale that will be told long after the three of us are gone. I spin a tale that will teach a lesson to both god and man.”
“Who is this person?” Atropos asked. Her voice gravelly and rough as though she had spent her entire life drinking water filled with broken glass. “How long will she live so I may know when to cut the cord?” She chuckled as she cut the air with her golden shears, already eager to put them to good use.
“You won’t have to,” Clotho said as she kept spinning the cord.
“Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll have to cut it. It is my job, it’s what I do,” Atropos argued as she waved her shears from side to side.
“She will live on forever,” Clotho muttered as she continued to spin a dark green cloth.
Her sisters shook their heads, unable to understand their young sister’s strange behavior.
“You speak nonsense, Clotho. I will always have a cord to measure just as Atropos will always have something to cut,” Lachesis said.
“That’s quite all right, sisters, there is no need for you to understand.” Clotho smiled an innocent smile as she continued to spin the thread and feed it into the spinning wheel.
Their cavern looked more and more like an elaborately decorated and multicolored spider web with every passing day. Every day, Clotho created a new cord for each child born into the world. It was a cycle. It was the way the world worked. You are born, you live, and then you die.
But not you, sweet one. We have other plans for you. The world will remember your name, Clotho thought as she continued to work on the dark green thread.
© Liz DeJesus 2016
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