It wouldn't be till the next full moon that we see our young worshipper again and this time on the paper connected to the dark pink string on the cedar tree there is a name Timi, I don't know if the child knows but it means honor in greek, it's a name suited for a young untainted girl. But oh how I regret the future I spun for her, I know not what my siblings did but if her power grows there is a though easily deniable chance of success, but it's a small chance, her tapestry woven with the threads of gods free from our whim and the mortals still bound to it and oh so many of those threads are short with frayed ends and hers the deep purple one that so carefully I spun into the tapestry it's loosening in parts, fraying and dividing and oh so very hard to control, oh the unfortunate fate of the grandchildren of nyx.
She is here now. She looks upon the paper, accepts her new name with a smile and takes down the paper putting it into a silver pouch filled with herbs she ties the pouch shut takes the pen and puts it behind her ear and leaves, this time I don't stay i follow her with my sight and see her continue on to school I let her fade from my sight knowing that my powers will pull me to her if my masterpiece is in danger or about to change but I know it's dangerous for her she is only seven yet her madness grows far beyond her powers and abilities she is divided between her souls purity and her minds darkness its an endless fight that her soul is far to likely to lose and I fear she will not follow the string of fate I carefully made and I wonder sometimes if madness is a way to escape fate far to many mad people never follow their strings. But I suppose even they must keep the world in balance and so I returned to my infinite work of weaving the threads into the tapestry this one the color of a green pasture and I wove it carefully in with the thread of deep purple and wove an intricate tapestry deeply connected to the one with the deep purple string and I put away the spoll from which the thread was taken and returned to the other threads my younger sister had spun.
I suppose if I hadn't come across the thread of a certain girl I thought I would never see again I would have felt the pull from my powers but I was far to engrossed in the thread and the tapestry near the beginning of the corridor of post-medieval humans and compared the thread of light nearly white blue to the thread that my sister cut ages ago they where identical. Mary Wollstonecraft was reincarnated.
A/N do you know who the narrator or the mother of Timi Jackson is fell free to comment and yes if nothing super exciting is happening the chapters will be around 500 words each, thanks everybody that reviewed and read, followed and put this on their favorite list.