Clotho beamed back, cheeks flushed with pleasure. So often their lot was to sit on the sidelines and watch the inexorable unspool. So often the most they could offer were unwelcome, uncomfortable truths. It came naturally to Atropos, whose shears touched every inevitability. Lachesis, no stranger to tangled threads, navigated such situations with grace. But for Clotho, the live-giver, who spun beginnings bright with possibility, it was never easy to stand by as hope guttered and potential dimmed. It felt good to be able to keep at least the ember of hope alive here – to give somebody the tools to soften the iron dictates of destiny.
"Please do," she said, and meant it earnestly. "I want to know all about it."