“Where have we three met again?

In bluest skies with want of rain.”

“It must be urgent, for I would not,

Again here tread ‘less meet we ought.”

“Sisters, I sense my time grows short,

The temporal beings ‘round me cavort”

“Has one eon fin’lly pass’d?

Though we knew this would not last…”

“Now ‘tis not the time for mourning,

‘Tis good the eldest gave us warning”

“Indeed, my sisters, choose we now,

From the realm of men somehow,

A lady fair and true in soul,

Who needs a spark to make her whole.”

“The fae will punish thee, my dear,

Oblivion itself should thou fear.

They look not kindly on modern magic,

Though the results be quite tragic.”

“Indeed, my sister, consider more,

Let’s not finish this upon this shore.

There is certainly another one,

A moon to your life’s setting sun.”

“Sisters, I beg thee, warn me not, and

Can we stop speaking in rhyme?” the eldest spat, “I’ve always hated it, it’s a stupid tradition.”

“It keeps our English skills ‘fresh’, as the kids say,” the youngest replied, cackling.

“Regardless,” the eldest continued, “as much as we are the keepers of reality, we never seem to do any good. In my walking of the world, I’ve recently become aware of “transgender” people.”

“Right,” replied the middle one, “the ones whose gender and body threads got all mussed up when we spun them. Unfortunate, but not much to be done, the guys upstairs haven’t gotten us a new spinning machine in six hundred years.”

“Ah, but we have an opportunity here to help, for once. I would like to see my career come to the close with a net positive,” the eldest said, with an ancient grin, “and I do need a replacement.”

“We cannot help you,” said the middle, “our times grows not short like yours. Even you are brave to speak these words where the heavens can see, and that’s with how short your time is. Imagine us, with half an eon at least to go! I won’t have it ruined by more of your shenanigans, what we did to that poor MacBeth fellow got us in enough trouble.”

“I ask not for your help,” said the eldest, winking, “merely your silence and pretense of ignorance as I cut and retie some threads. It’s a skill I’ve been working on for a few centuries.”

The other two sighed and nodded in cautious agreement. “Will that be all, sister?” the youngest asked, “I’ve got yoga in a few minutes and teleporting isn’t as subtle as it used to be.”

“That will be all, leave it to me,” said the eldest, as the younger two departed, leaving her alone on the sandy shores of Scotland.