Martha rapped on the door in a way she remembered from her childhood, hoping that that would ring some bells. A voice from inside yelled, and someone ran to the door. As Martha waited for them to finish fiddling with the lock, she took a deep breath and rehearsed her speech.

Her father stepped slightly out of the doorway, his intense eyes staring into her, before he spoke gruffly, “can I help you ladies?”

On the spot, Martha froze. She had been secretly hoping her mother would be the one to answer, knowing her father would probably scare her like this. He was never mean to her, but he always had a stern stoicism to his demeanor, and it made her…unable to break difficult news to him.

“We’re here about your son,” Atropos spoke, sensing Martha’s nervousness.

The man’s eye’s widened as he ushered them in, closing the door behind them. “What do you know about Martin?” he asked, in hushed tones.

“Honey, who’s there?” Martha’s mother called from the kitchen.

“Marketers, dear,” he shouted back. Turning to them he whispered, “She’s been distraught over him for weeks, it’d be best if you didn’t mention him too loudly. Let’s chat in my study.”

They crept up the stairs to his study. Martha had only been in the study on rare occasions, when she was sure her father wasn’t home. Being invited in so easily to it now only added to the unease. He really didn’t recognize her. As they reached the door, he ushered them in first, closing the door behind him.

He sat across from them in his chair, while they both stood uncomfortably, no place to sit down in the study. No one spoke for a few moments as he stared at them and they at each other.

“So,” he said, “out with it, what’s happened to Martin?” he asked sharply.

“The issue,” Atropos spoke up, “is that we’ve found them in a state most unlike anything you’ve seen.”

“Way to be ominous,” Martha whispered snarkily.

“Thank you, I try,” Atropos replied.

The man’s brow furrowed and he looked from Martha to Atropos, as if trying to discern their motivations. Martha realized at that moment, Atropos was far too weird to mediate this conversation, she would have to do it.

“What she means,” Martha said, “is that Martin is safe and well. And that we have news on his whereabouts.”

“And..?” he asked, impatiently.

“I am Martin,” she replied.

His eyes widened before he began to laugh bitterly. Martha yelled back, “It’s not funny!”

“You’re right,” he said coldly, his tone suddenly changing, “it isn’t. You’ll have to leave now, I don’t appreciate cruel pranks like this.”

“I have proof,” Martha said, trying to let herself not be intimidated by his stern presence, “if you will give me enough time to give it.”

“Very well,” he said, “I’ll entertain your delusions if it’ll make you leave without making a scene.”

Martha walked gracefully to the back of the room, and pulled a book on the shelf, making a noise as gears whirred. Part of the shelf rotated, revealing a compartment with a glass and some whiskey, the bottle now nearly empty.

“I used to drink a little and water it down when I snuck in here in high school,” she said shyly, “sorry about that.”

“Did you really? I knew I should’ve…wait, Martin?” he said, his face twisting in confusion.

“Hi dad,” she replied, smiling a little as she waved.

“You…you transgendered yourself,” he replied.

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, actually,” Atropos butted in, sensing his apprehension, “she was transgendered by the fires of Hades.”

“WHAT?” he said, “You joined one of those satanic temples?”

“Oh my gods, no, both of you, please shut up and let me explain,” Martha exclaimed exasperatedly.

Martha proceeded to explain the whole story, her father’s expression growing more ragged and blank as time went on, Atropos filing her nails in the corner while occasionally looking between the two.

“I’m sorry, Martin, but…” her father said.

“Martha, father, I told you,” she interrupted.

He rolled his eyes and continued, “Right, sorry, I can believe you’re a transgender, but I’m not going to believe you just went to Hell.”

“What if I proved it, that I’m a goddess now?” she asked in return.

“There’s nothing you can do to–” he started to say.

“In about fifteen seconds, mom is going to drop a plate and curse,” she replied, using the trick of foretelling Atropos had taught her.

Almost instinctively, her father looked at his wristwatch, counting out the seconds. Surely enough, about fifteen seconds later, they heard a clatter and a very distinct, ‘FUCK’ from the kitchen.

“I told her I don’t like it when she does that,” her father replied, putting his hand on his forehead.

“So you believe me now?” Martha said, grinning.

“I suppose there’s really no room for me not to believe anything,” he replied, “though it’s a bit disappointing to know that God isn’t real.”

“Yep, that happens a lot,” Atropos replied, “if it’s any consolation, the Queen of England is.”

“Okay, that I don’t believe,” he replied.

“So, I’m your daughter now,” Martha replied, smiling, “I’m a little bit excited for that.”

“Martin,” he replied, sighing, “just because you’re a god now doesn’t mean you get to fulfill whatever odd fantasies you have. I’m very disappointed that the first thing you used these powers for was to make yourself into a woman, when you were made to be a man.”

Martha started boiling with rage. She may have only figured out she actually liked being a woman a half day ago, but she was hardly going to let this man tell her what she felt. As she raised her voice to speak, Atropos put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hold on,” Atropos said, “I’ve got an expert we can ask.”

Atropos snapped, and a woman who looked to be in her forties, with headphones in and workout gear on, appeared in the room. Looking around, she saw Atropos and glared. “Sister, now’s not the time. I was in the middle of a marathon!”

“Oh please, I was there for the first one, it’s nothing special,” Atropos scoffed, “now, Clotho, dear, I’d like to introduce you to Martha, my replacement.”

Clotho’s demeanor changed to one of perplexion as she looked at Martha, then nodded approvingly. “A good choice, I can tell she’s got a lot of curiosity in her.”

“Martha was previously one Martin O’Donnell, could you please look that name up in your records and tell me her gender?” Atropos replied.

Clotho sighed and snapped a filing cabinet into existence, paging through it at a breakneck speed, coming upon a manila folder that she immediately grabbed. She looked through it and answered, “Martin O’Donnell, gender, female.”

“B…you can’t just summon someone and expect me to believe them!” Martha’s father exclaimed.

“Clotho, spinner of threads, at your service,” Clotho replied bluntly, “and if you do anything to hurt my new sister, I will make sure yours comes unspun.” She then disappeared, presumably to finish her marathon.

“I…did she just threaten me?” the man asked, nervously.

“She does that from time to time, but it’s really me you’ve got to worry about,” Atropos said, chuckling to herself, “but she was right that you haven’t been the nicest to my new sister. I’d like to ask you to apologize.”

“Well it’s not much of an apology if it’s got a threat prodding him,” Martha pointed out.

Atropos turned to look at her and shrugged. “Fair enough,” she replied then turned to Martha’s father, “We’ll need to see Martha’s mother now, to inform her as well.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, “you will not be distressing my wife with this matter. I won’t have her knowing her son is a–”

And suddenly, he froze in place, as if paralyzed. “I’ve frozen him in time, he can stay that way until we’re gone,” Atropos explained to Martha.

“He won’t be hurt, will he?” Martha asked, poking her father as if to be sure.

“No, other than his massive ego, which frankly I’m glad didn’t get passed down to you,” Atropos replied, leading Martha down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Martha’s mother was humming a tune as she chopped vegetables, presumably making dinner.

“Oh, are you the marketers? Please tell Joshua to come down in fifteen minutes,” she asked, “I know he likes his dinner fresh.”

“Actually, ma’am,” Atropos said, “we’re here about your child.”

She dropped her knife, turning to look at them. “What do you know about Martin?”

As they explained what had happened for the second time that day, Martha was pleasantly surprised to see her mother’s face rising from one of deep anguish to a suppressed smile. As she finished explaining, her mother gave her a hug.

“Oh Martha, it’s so lovely to see you again, I was so worried you’d been lost forever,” she said, hugging her daughter tightly.

“You’re not upset at all?” Martha asked, embracing in return.

“Why would I be upset when my child’s come home?” she said, “All I wanted to hear was that you were safe, and to hear that you’re safe and happy, that means the world to me.”

“You should really take that up with your husband, then,” Atropos said, “I’m certain he’s much less happy about that than you.”

“What?” she asked, her eyes turning to the stairs and shooting daggers in the direction of the study. Regaining her composure, she turned back to her guests. “If you don’t mind, perhaps we can continue this talk some other time. I’d like to have a chat with my husband.”

Martha released from the hug and smiled as she nodded and said her goodbyes, as Atropos vanished them both back to her house.