The pair of lovers never fell asleep next to each other, per se, but they did find themselves closing their eyes as they snuggled up to each other, Cass spooning around Martha protectively. Martha was still breathing lightly, perhaps if nothing else to feel the weight of Cass’ head rising and falling on her chest as she gently stroked through the Naiad’s hair that draped on her pillow.

After what felt like hours, the Naiad stretched and released Martha from her grip, eliciting a whine from her partner. She went up to put her clothes back on, as Martha stayed snuggled in the blankets.

“I have to, probably,” Cass said, “how do I get out of here?”

“Hmm?” Martha grunted, “Oh, I’ll have to take out. Just give me a minute to get up.”

Martha stretched, yawned, and then snapped her clothes back on.

“That’s a real useful trick you’ve got there,” Cass said as she smiled.

“Oh, um, thank you!” Martha replied, not sure what to say, “I’m still getting used to it.”

Just as they were about to walk out the door, Martha turned around to see Atropos sitting there, sipping tea in a bathrobe.

“You know, Martha, you really should be telling me when you’re having guests over,” Atropos said, for once taking on a more serious tone.

“Sorry,” Martha said, sensing her disappointment, “I didn’t know how the sigil worked, and accidentally summoned her, and…”

“Hush, child,” Atropos replied, “we’ll talk later.”

She pointed at Cass and snapped, as Cass disappeared. Martha looked at the spot, concerned.

“Don’t worry, Martha,” Atropos said, “she’s where she needs to be right now. And that’s not anywhere harmful, if you’re worried about that.”

Martha let out a sigh of relief as she turned back to her sister. For a moment, there was a little bit of awkward silence, before Atropos motioned for her to walk out of the room and into the house again. As they did, she vanished the room.

“Martha,” Atropos said, “I’m glad you had a good time, but now it’s time to talk about safety.”

“I’ve already had the talk, Atropos,” Martha said, blushing, “mom was pretty insistent on having it with me.”

“That’s not what I mean, Martha,” Atropos replied, sighing, “I mean we’ve got to be worried about people looking for us.”

“What do you mean, Atropos?” Martha said, frozen in place.

“Come, child, it’s time you learned about how we do our job,” Atropos said as she motioned for Martha to follow her up the stairs.

As they climbed, Martha noticed that the hallway seemed to stretch on forever. “A defense mechanism,” Atropos explained, “deceives people into thinking this hallway is shorter than it is, making their scrying much harder.”

Eventually, they reached the end of the hallway, Atropos opening a large mahogany door to reveal a small study, decorated with vibrant murals on the walls, adorned with painted marble busts. Off to the side of the room was a small lectern, with what looked like a glorified pair of scissors on the end.

“Welcome to my workshop. This is where I do my work,” Atropos said, “time stands still in here, compared to the rest of the world, so I have plenty of time to cut all the strands that need to be cut. Everyone dies at my pace in here.”

“Everyone?” Martha asked, incredulous.

“Every human being in the world has a soul, and every soul’s time runs out,” she explained, pulling a thread out of nowhere and cutting it as an example, “that one was nearly overdue! I’m glad I got it just in time.”

“What do you do on hours when you need to be somewhere else,” Martha asked.

“Well, there’s an automated feature as well, but I try not to leave that running for too long, lest it get jammed,” she replied, “hate when that happens.”

“So what does this have to do with me letting Cass into the house?” Martha asked, “Not that I mean to be rude by interrupting you, sorry.”

Atropos nodded and replied, “putting it simply, I more than cheated when I cut your thread. I did something that wasn’t supposed to be done. Normally, we’d set aside a thread from birth, separate from the others, and would raise them until they reached the age of majority. I’m not confident I have that much time. So I chose you.”

“Why’s that not supposed to be done?” I asked.

“The High Council of the Fae,” she replied, “the ones who took over after Olympus fell. They promised us never again would we be under the tyranny of those evil gods. And for the most part, they were right.”

“Then what’s wrong with them?” Martha asked.

“What was tyrannical oppression by efficient tyrants is now bureaucratic oppression by the incompetent,” Atropos said, a hint of disdain audible, “it takes literal eternities to get any changes. We placed an order for a new spinning wheel just after William Shakespeare wrote his first play. Still haven’t gotten it, they say by next decade, though they’ve said that for eighty years now.”

“So we can’t exactly just get me ‘approved’, I’m guessing, we have to pretend this was your plan all along,” Martha deduced.

“Right, exactly,” Atropos said, “and the worst part is, what we did made ripples, my dear. Your thread was not set apart, and people have noticed something is very slightly off with the world. Agents are probably already out to get us, and who knows who might be one. We are towing a very fine line here, my dear.”

“What are we to do then?” Martha frustratedly exclaimed, “Can’t you just, I don’t know, predict when people are going to get us and avoid it?”

Atropos shook her head meekly. “Our powers of prognostication, you will find, are largely limited to humans. And reading the minds of our fellow deities, well, you saw how it went when you wanted to read human minds.”

“So we’ve got our hands tied from every direction,” Martha muttered, “how can we get out of this?”

“Well, once I’m retired, they’ll have no choice about what to do. They’ll have to keep you on. We don’t have to keep this up forever, time is on our side.”

“But…what happens when you retire?” Martha asked.

“I become a mortal again, I live a full life, and then I die,” Atropos replied, “nothing is meant to last forever, not even me.”

“Will I be able to visit you?” Martha asked.

“Not while I’m mortal, no,” Atropos somberly replied, “but don’t worry, once I’m in the Underworld, you’ll be able to visit me until I fade from existence.”

“When does that happen?” Martha asked.

“When the last mortal forgets the name of a soul in the underworld, that soul vanishes,” she replied, “it’s best that way.”

Martha ran up to Atropos, and hugged her. “I don’t want you to vanish, I’ll make sure your name is remembered forever.”

Atropos returned the embrace, and stroked the young woman’s hair. “It’ll be okay, Martha dear, I suspect we’ve got a long time until you’ll have to worry about that. Focus on the time we have together now.”

With that, Atropos led her out of the study, after explaining a few more technical details of the work. “We’ll have to get you cutting your first thread, but it’s a bit of an experience, and I don’t want you to come out scared!” she said, Martha looking at her anxiously.

With that, she told Martha that she was welcome to re-create the room if she wanted space to herself, but that, very strictly, no guests were allowed in. Martha sighed as she focused on creating her perfect room again. The door came out of her imagination a little better this time, not quite as short or stuck in the hinges, and she soon found herself snuggling in the snuggliest blankets ever.