The Daughters of the Night. Three in number, Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. The spiner of fabric, the weaver and the cutter. The present, the past and the future.
“They call you death and I call you, Atropos, the beginning.”

Like the round shaped serpent, ouroboros, that life is death and death is life. I waited for you until the 8th minute, at the mark of the beginning of the end. I praised you, I wiped for you, I longed for you, Atropos.

With a chorus that sends my will to the sky and beyond, into the darkness, singing the manifestation of your undeniable will. You are Genesis that spawns through chaos and the copulation of Nyx. Process, formation, demiurge.

If I am the listener, the experiencer of your will, then what are you, if not the harsh passing of time. The peak of fear. The undesirable. I fear that time has left me alone, regretting the past times gone with the sharp pain of loss.

“And the wasted time, no longer can be used. This thin spine of cloth needs to be cut.” At the mark of the 8th minute she appears, sharp, divine, riveting and unexpected.

“Though shalt not fear me, because I am death. Though shalt fear your past and your regrets. Your evil deeds that still torment your mind.” She spoke through me and not to me. Possessed by her beauty in instant delirium and as all chains rattle, I am no longer of this earth. “And though shalt have another chance. And though shalt live another life. A new beginning.”

In between the scissors of time the share is always fair. What you give you shall receive. In pain, pain is born and in forgiveness, time becomes a moment, in your hands, to be held, eternally.

“I, Atropos, daughter of night, ruler of lives finite, unbind the souls with my screams.”

At the 16th minute, still confined by her will, I bow my head to the undeniable Empress. They may call you death, but my eyes see the beginning. Atropos, the third daughter of the night. Ruler of mortality.

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