Echo was as warm as ever, showing the three women in with smiles of welcome. That part was not surprising to Clotho, who'd come to know the the good-natured nymph over the course of her pregnancy, but Narcissus' deferential greeting caught her off-guard. He was... respectful, attentive. She noticed his eyes drop momentarily to the baby in his arms, saw the look of real tenderness that crossed them - and she wondered. In that instant, it was hard to believe that this was the same, self-obsessed man who had died for the love of his own reflection.
Perhaps, Clotho thought, parenthood really did change everything. Perhaps this new-spun thread, delicate and mortal as it may be, was the tie Narcissus had needed all along - a lifeline to hold him to the real world, and to draw him out of the mirrored corridors of his cursed mind. She hoped, for the new family's sake, that this was the case.
But when she glanced across at her sisters she saw that Lachesis, too, was studying Narcissus with a speculative look in her eye. Clotho had seen that expression before; it was the look the Measurer wore when she was concentrating on a particularly tangled little skein. She could imagine her, now, separating each thread in her mind, tracing each one's path, patiently working the snarls and tangles with the lightest of touches until the way was laid bare.
Clotho didn't know what Lachesis saw in this particular tangle of threads set before her, but she knew that look, and she knew then (as perhaps she had all along) that there would be no simple resolutions here.
Atropos was the one to answer him, with a nod towards the bottle in her hand. "Well, I wouldn't say no to a glass."
Lachesis didn't say anything, but the look she shot the Crone was cold murder. "What?" said Atropos, not at all cowed. "It's a celebration, isn't it? Only right to toast the little one's health."