Thanks to ladyofchaos for suggesting a chapter about Cleo.

Day 24: "Swinging"

Clotho, called Cleo by the mortals who knew her, stood before an infinite sea of color—an ocean of shades so varied and so vast that, when combined, the colors cancelled each other out, forming a featureless pallor the hue of a mind when dreaming. To any mortal, the mystifying, kaleidoscopic maelstrom of the Loom would overwhelm. To Clotho-called-Cleo, it soothed. It looked of home, really. She watched the colors blend and swirl with a smile on her face, reading patterns with ease, beholding the whirl of Fate in the eddy of their tide.

Softly—as soft as a thread sliding through cloth in the path of a thin needle—a voice drifted through the storm. She laughed at the question it posed, crossing her arms over her chest with a creak of leather sleeves.

"You know we can't intervene," Cleo muttered, tossing her frizzy grey hair. "Stubborn fool."

Another whisper. A rebuke, this time, hot and demanding and rough. But Clotho was not intimidated.

"You might be the oldest, but that doesn't mean you're not a fool, Atropos." She traced fingertips along the golden shears strapped to her belt. "And no. I'm not giving these back yet. Not until everything is put to rest."

Yet another whisper pierced the rabble of color. Cleo rolled her eyes at what it said. Her dark sunglasses had slipped down her long nose; she pushed them back up and grinned.

"Well, you should've thought of how you'd get by without our Eye when you gave it to me," said Cleo. "You'll have it back soon. Be patient."

For a long time, the shifting Loom of color remained silent.

Then another voice echoed forth, softer than the voice before. A whisper of velvet against a child's cheek. The rustle of satin over marble. The caress of silk on skin. Cleo closed her eyes at its plaintive question, Loom disappearing from sight as her fists clenching at her side.

"No, Lachesis. No," she said. "I worry, but despair? No. Never. I know her too well for that."

Her eyes opened. The Loom reappeared, vortex of color an endless spiral she could almost drown in. But she was not the one who need fear losing herself in the pull of Destiny. No. Not Cleo.

"Not-Quite-Keiko will go down swinging," said Clotho, "or not at all."

This time, Clotho's sisters remained silent. They sat with her in spirit, the three Fates watching the colors pulse in time to infinite, distant heartbeats—the rhythm of unmade destiny, steady and eternal.

So technically the Graeae are the ones who share a single eye in Greek myth, but thanks to the freakin' Disney movie Hercules, I can never get the image of the Moirai sharing one eye out of my head. Cleo's ever-present sunglasses are a take on that concept. I think of them as a shared talisman the Fates can use to interact directly with the world. Without it, they can only watch the colors dance and interpret them from afar.

Almost went a different direction with this prompt involving Yusuke misinterpreting the word "swing," but it felt almost needlessly silly.

Many thanks for these fine folks' support: xenocanaan, Kaiya Azure, cestlavie, tammywammy9, SuzyQBeats, C S Stars, ladyofchaos, Lady Ellesmere