She spun her webs through the world.
Her many arms were spiderlike as they wove their threads through the fate of the world and made them her own. Her eyes were omnipresent, everywhere, compound and looking over reality itself. Shadows coloured her vision, misty darkness lighting up the world. Her silk, made of thought and will and possibility, sparkled with blackness.
She was elsewhere, removed, beyond the beyond, and yet she continued, like a spinneret, to thread her strands through existence, making it into her tapestry.
She was split, of two minds, divided, and yet united in their love.
Her beloved. Their beloved. He marched through the world, strung down by their ribbons and tied to the world that he now walked.
She loved it. She hated it.
She wove her fibril around him and his many bodies as they fell through the earth and unravelled in her arms. She spun them once more into a new thread as they fell, a new tapestry, a new cotton doll, made and filled by her love and with her love and ready to be sprung into existence once more.
His soul was connected to hers - to theirs - by the red string of fate, woven by them for a fate that he did not know and bound together by a past that he did not remember. And all around her, she threaded her web through the world, bringing it all together, with her, under her, for him and her.
She was a spider, eternally spinning her webs and threads through the world.
