The cavern of time was quiet. Only the sound of shears against silence.
Beneath the root-veined foundations of the world, where even time itself surrenders, three shadows wove threads in silence.
Clotho, with hands soft as petals, spun a new strand into existence.
Lachesis, with silver eyes unblinking, measured it precisely—neither too long nor too merciful.
Atropos, the eldest, stared into the abyss beyond death and chose not to cut.
The thread they held trembled. It shimmered.
"She was not meant to vanish," Clotho whispered.
"She was meant to end. But not like that," Atropos murmured, her scissors idle.
"Let her rise again. Let the world look into the face it tried to ruin," Lachesis said.
They wove the soul again. And Thea—the torn flower—was reborn.
YEARS LATER
A girl with a dark brown curly mane and almond hazelish eyes that burned like deep spring sap stood in a mortal orchard. Her bare feet kissed the earth, but the wind recoiled from her. Bees paused mid-flight. Even petals turned slowly toward her face. She was not smiling. Thea had grown again—graceful, lithe, lips full like dusk, limbs fluid as willow branches. Her beauty had not faded in death—it had crystallized, perfected. Ageless. Irrefutable.
But her eyes... they were no longer innocent. They remembered. Every scream. Every shattered statue. Every god's breath on her neck. The shattered body of her mortal husband. The flashing light. The cliff.
The madness of Olympus.
"I remember everything," she whispered, fingers trailing the vines around her wrist.
"And now... I bloom with thorns."
She walked through a village. Mortals stared, entranced. Some whispered prayers. But she only watched the skies, waiting. Knowing. They would come again. Of course they would. They could never resist her. Not when the shape of her cheek haunted their heavens.
But this time—She would not flee. She would not beg. She would not break.
"Let them try to pluck the flower again," she said to the wind.
"They'll bleed for it."
And high above, in the celestial court, the Fates watched. Atropos did not smile. But she nodded once, satisfied.
Thea was no longer a fragile bloom. She was a weapon dressed in petals.
[This is the plot twist effect of animes i'm sorry 😥😔 I hope y'all forgive me..]
- Author.
YOU ARE READING
"ᔕᑌᑕᕼ ᗩ ᑎƳᗰᑭᕼ" 𝒢𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓂𝓎𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓎 𝓍 𝓎/𝓃
Historical Fiction"If she is as beautiful as they say, then bring her to me." Here is the story of Y/N, in which she's called Thea ! so, let her immerse you fully into her tales in the Divine Pantheon. Let the show, begin.
