The Fates were devastatingly beautiful, a fact that they often hid from other gods. There was nothing that the Fates couldn’t see, but one of the things that shone the brightest was the temper tantrums thrown by insecure immortals. It was easier for everyone if they appeared as the aged spinsters, only revealing their true selves to those who ruled the Underworld—Nyx, Erebus, and Hades. Occasionally Hecate, by extension.
Lachesis knew that they were not expecting a visit from one of those privileged few.
“Sister!” Clotho called back, sounding equally melodic.
“Did you hear—”
“Yes, I heard!”
“That it’s Hera—”
“—who is coming!” Atropos chimed in at the end, all of the sisters’ voices harmonizing with one another and finishing each other’s sentences. Each of the Fates took a deep breath, rolling their shoulders or shaking out their wrists as they began to transform. Their shiny, waist-length white hair turned brittle and short. Clotho appeared almost entirely bald. Their backs became bent and their skin mottled and wrinkled, as if their flesh was two sizes too small and stretched over bones. Even their clothing lost its luster, the gleaming gowns turning into threadbare tunics.
It was the last stage of the transition that each of the Fates hated. Their teeth cracked and browned, and their eyes shriveled up and disappeared until only one remained.
“I’ve got it—”
“You got it—”
“She got it—”
Each of the sisters teased one another as Lachesis blinked twice, having kept the one good eye between them. The Fates moved quickly into the receiving hall, sensing Hera’s presence as she approached the large estate. The sisters didn’t live in a cave or in the deepest pit of hell, but rather in a large home of stone that was settled in between Elysium and Tartarus.
The Fates filed into a straight line facing the door as soon as it swung open, in perfect time. Their faces were devoid of any expression as they stared forward, Clotho and Atropos’s empty faces unmoving. Lachesis didn’t make a sound as the eye settled on the queen of the gods.
Hera stormed forward, a gust of wind trailing at her feet. She was hardly the picture of regality that she so often portrayed. Her brow was furrowed, and her lip was upturned in a grimace. A braid whipped down her back, as if it had a mind of its own, her eyes blazing in anger and frustration. Hera was increasingly frustrated with the fallouts of the Titanomachy and had come to the Fates with one question—her own honor be damned.
“What do I have to do to win back the favor of the gods?” Hera’s voice sounded like a pit viper, cutting and venomous. She walked as close to the Fates as she dared, throwing a finger in Lachesis’s face. The sisters showed no reaction, but their thoughts began flying wildly.
“How dare she—”
“—threaten us—”
“—in our own home—”
“Answer me!” Hera snapped again, breaking through the Fate’s thoughts. It was Clotho who responded, making a withered, ancient sound that still echoed through the hall.
“You make demands of those who do not take them, Hera.”
It was a warning. If Hera noticed, she ignored it. Her expression contorted once more, and the sisters studied the torn edges around her garments. She looked like a half-burnt candle, fuming with rage and melted, without the fire power to relight herself. The embers of her fury flickered like wicks in her eyes. It would have been a dangerous sight to anyone other than the Fates, a trick that likely always got Hera far outside of the Underworld.
“What must happen for me to win back the favor of the gods?” she hissed, taking one step back and surveying the three sisters.
“You have the—”
“You have the—”
“—favor of the gods.”
Hera rolled her eyes, as if she was about to explain something again to an inattentive audience. “I have the favor ofmen.Zeus is believed to be king of the gods and I, his queen. But we have no respect. The other gods know what happened. They remember Nyx and Erebus.” Hera spat out their names like they were bitter, her hands finding her hips as she stared the sisters down.
“Do you think—”
“I was thinking—”
“I thought it, too.”The sister’s inaudible conversation continued, Hera growing bored and beginning to look around the hall.
“Do you have an answer for me or not?” She readjusted a bracelet on her wrist and examined her nails in a series of actions that portrayed the illusion of aloofness while her anger still bubbled just under the surface. It was Atropos who broke the silence, a grin covering her aged face.
