I do not own Harry Potter and I make no profit from this story. Harry
Potter belongs solely to J.K. Rowlings.
Three women sit about a loom, speaking quietly and weaving. On the loom is a many-hued cloth, beautiful beyond description. Some threads are green, some blue, some sparkling gold. Represented are all the colors of the universe, peacefully coexisting in the cloth.
One of the weavers holds up a black silver-shot thread that looks like the night sky. "What about this one?" she asks. She has many names, as do her sisters. They have been called many things. The Three Fates, the Norns, the Weird Sisters, Atropos, Lachesis, and Clotho. They do not need names for themselves.
Her sister eyes the thread thoughtfully. "It is a moderately long length. Longer than the one weaved beside it earlier." That had been a nice color, a bright red and gold that had been about thirty centimeters long when their sister had cut it and the other pretty thread that wound around it.
The two sisters turn to their silent sister expectantly, waiting for her golden scissors to come out. Instead, their silent sister speaks, surprising them.
"I like the color. And this thread is already part mine." It is true and has been for awhile, the frayed edges not distracting from the beauty. The third sister pauses. "I don't need more." There are pieces of colorful thread littered about her feet.
The other two regard their sister for awhile and then inspect the night sky thread more carefully.
"Alright." The first says after a bit. "I'll keep using it. But I'm setting it aside for now. I'll weave it back into the pattern in a bit."
"Yes." Says the second sister. "Concentrate on that thread that comes from the red and gold one. That's a pretty thread."
The three go back to weaving. And the black and silver-shot thread gleams softly on the loom.
Three women sit about a loom, speaking quietly and weaving. On the loom is a many-hued cloth, beautiful beyond description. Some threads are green, some blue, some sparkling gold. Represented are all the colors of the universe, peacefully coexisting in the cloth.
One of the weavers holds up a black silver-shot thread that looks like the night sky. "What about this one?" she asks. She has many names, as do her sisters. They have been called many things. The Three Fates, the Norns, the Weird Sisters, Atropos, Lachesis, and Clotho. They do not need names for themselves.
Her sister eyes the thread thoughtfully. "It is a moderately long length. Longer than the one weaved beside it earlier." That had been a nice color, a bright red and gold that had been about thirty centimeters long when their sister had cut it and the other pretty thread that wound around it.
The two sisters turn to their silent sister expectantly, waiting for her golden scissors to come out. Instead, their silent sister speaks, surprising them.
"I like the color. And this thread is already part mine." It is true and has been for awhile, the frayed edges not distracting from the beauty. The third sister pauses. "I don't need more." There are pieces of colorful thread littered about her feet.
The other two regard their sister for awhile and then inspect the night sky thread more carefully.
"Alright." The first says after a bit. "I'll keep using it. But I'm setting it aside for now. I'll weave it back into the pattern in a bit."
"Yes." Says the second sister. "Concentrate on that thread that comes from the red and gold one. That's a pretty thread."
The three go back to weaving. And the black and silver-shot thread gleams softly on the loom.
