Lachesis waited for Clotho to pour the teas, before taking the teapot. Lifting the lid, she cast a brief, professional glance over the clumped leaves, and pursed her lips sympathetically at what she beheld. There it was again: the same knotted snarl she'd observed this morning, a cluster of threads caught in a stranglehold. She'd not understood then. Now, Elaine's words gave her clarity.
The Merry Men, caught in the Sheriff's snare.
"Yes, I see it," she said. "There are two competing narratives fighting for prominence. You have the power to tip the balance."
Clotho leaned over her shoulder, brows drawn together. Where Lachesis saw the twist in the tale, the Spinner saw the entwined fibres of the thread, and they told much the same story. Shadow and light overlapped, the dark and violent and bittersweet tellings interwoven with bright-hued children's tales of mischief and friendship and heroes triumphant. "You have a claim on them," she agreed.
"Lemme see that," said Atropos, a little irritable at being left on the outer. She reached for the teapot – Lachesis surrendered it willingly – and peered inside. After a moment's scrutiny, she leaned back in her chair. "Woof. Well, you certainly can't make things worse."