Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
It is not something I wanted to admit to myself. It was growing in me long before I realized it had surpassed obsession. By the time she asked me that question, my cock nearly touching her sweet, wet entrance, it was far too late to stop it.
Far too late.
I go to the carved window of ancient stone and look out, seeing almost nothing. The pull to her is so strong it almost overpowers my determination to meet with the Fates. If they do not reply soon—
Then I will wait. We cannot be caught naked, in the throes of passion, if Zeus attempts to attack the Underworld.
When he attempts to attack.
Minox appears less than an hour later. His dark cape dragging along the obsidian floor. Darkness under his eyes I’ve not seen for ages. The depths of what has been done is known to him alone. Regret seeps into the back of my mind.
The Fates will meet with me. I only need come to them.
I do not hesitate once I receive this word. I leave immediately, anxious for their consult.
The Fates are not met through a mirror, as I spoke with Zeus before. I stalk along the path in my realm, careful not to be seen, until a branch shows itself to me. It is not the same every time, nor does it appear in the same place. Still, I recognize it the moment I see it.
I follow that branch until I reach what appears to be a simple yet well-built dwelling in a forest glade.
The moment I step through the threshold, it is as if the forest glade does not exist.
No. It exists somewhere in my realms, but the room that can be found beyond that door is not in the forest glade. It is not even in one of my realms. It is not in Zeus’s realm, either, or the mortal realm. It exists between all the realms and could be considered a kind of neutral ground. So that all may access the Fates.
I march in feeling as if I am going to battle. The dark velvet of my cloak is blown back by the gust of harsh wind. As if I will have to fight to come away with the information I need to protect my queen.
And I would fight. I would tear down any realm if that is what it took to keep her at my side.
I ignore the unease in the pit of my stomach as the door closes behind me and move to the center of the room.
The space is one that could be recognized across centuries. A bright white room, cloaked in protective light. A white marble floor. Walls that disappear into shadows beyond where they reside. It is not a place the way mortals would think of it. If I were to walk towards those walls, they may change, shifting in their appearance. It is not for me to know what their true appearance may be, or if the walls have a true appearance. That is only for the Fates.
The three sister Goddesses wear gold silk garments much like the threads of Fate they weave. Their obsession with the threads of every soul is necessary for order. Their knowledge of what is to come is inescapable. For humans Clotho spins the thread to begin their lives in the mortal realm, Lachesis measures the thread and it is Atropos who cuts it, ending their life. For the Gods and Demigods, there is power still in the Fates. With how the threads are woven and where they lay on the boards.
This place—and the work of the Fates—exists outside of mortal time, and even time on Olympus or in my realms, and the atmosphere reflects that. The air is still. If I think of windows, they appear in the corner of my eye, but they do not look out on familiar realms. Their images change, frequently and the thoughts of the sisters thicken the air.
They look out on the mists of time, which might look like anything if one stared long enough. I cannot I imagine anyone who would come here would care about what was outside the windows. There are more important things to discuss.
I do not bother looking. I’ve come for answers and I pray they have them for me.
I stand in the center of the room. The Fates sit on three chairs across from me, clad in their delicate gowns that speak of bygone eras. Or perhaps they are from future eras that only the Fates have glimpsed. I do not know, nor do I ask. They look back at me with placid, youthful faces.
Here, where the Fates take audiences, they change subtly the longer I watch. I do not let my mind dwell too deeply on how they look, though my eyes snag on the changes, trying to make sense of them.