They appeared in the Underworld, for a short bit. Them appearing wouldn’t be unusual. The Fates are everywhere, visible or not. Sometimes they don’t allow themselves to be seen. Sometimes they barely bother to hide. Sometimes they give hints that they are there, throwing a trinket on the ground or changing the direction of a slight breeze. Yes, they are everywhere, whether you notice or not.
The odd part about this visit was that somebody noticed.
And he knew who the string was for.
Hades slowly ascended in the air towards the Fates. Why they were on the roof of his obsidian castle of glistening black, he did not know. But he stepped towards them and observed.
His eyes found the silver string. He flickered. He knew whose that was. She had just come to his door only a moment ago.
He tried to glance over the Fates' shoulders. Even if he saw the string, he wouldn’t have been able to decipher the knots or the length or what her Fate was, but it was worth a shot.
The loom was still spinning. Ah. That would makes sense, considering she wasn’t born yet.
“Yes?”
The Cutter had noticed him. Her accent was very foreign and sleepy; a Destinic accent from a higher influence. Hades grimaced.
“Just observing.” He used his highest formality voice and air. Conversations with the Fates were not technically rare, but… uncommon. They weren’t like the gods. They were above the gods’ slaughters and love affairs and great wars against evil- probably because they heard it all, already knew it all. It was pointless to argue with them, joke with them, have any strong feelings expressed to them… Much more efficient to be polite, thoughtful, honest.
The Cutter stared at him. The Spinner was completely immersed in her work. The Measurer seemed to recognize he was there, but did not take any attention in him.
Hades cleared his throat and shifted his feet. A spark of anger threatened to flame at his own discomfort. I am the God of the Underworld, he wanted to boom. I do not get uncomfortable! And then maybe he’d kill some dead people for good measure.
But he resisted.
The Cutter continued to stare.
“What is her fate to be?” He shifted again-curses- but managed to keep his eye contact. Sometimes if you ask nice, they’ll give you some tidbit of information. It’s worth a shot.
The Cutter stared. And she stared some more, just to get her point across. Finally, she stared so hard that she began to speak. “That is a large question.”
Hades stared back.
She turned to the string spinning. “I see her choices. Her life burns bright, and dies in flames. Or her life continues, restless, unkindled, and settles in a final dead defeat. Very good. Very good choices.”
If Hades were even slightly mortal, he would have been appalled. His eyes would have flashed and set in a hard stone, certain that the Fates surely were out to get him and anyone connected to him. Die in flames? Dead defeat? Well, of course. Why would there be a happy ending? Why would there ever be a happy ending?
But he was immortal. And he understood. And he knew there was nothing he could do.
He nodded.
There was a call, “My Lord?”
He turned to see Persephone squint up at him from the garden, a beautifully grim sight of muted pink and soft brown. He nodded at her as she tilted her head to one side and squinted some more. “Just a bit,” he mouthed, as he turned back towards the Fates, ready for another staring contest with the Cutter. But they were gone.

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