the colors of fate

She weaves the threads together with her long fingers. She never pauses, never rests, but her eyes don’t droop – they focus intently on the shimmering strings in her hands.

The air around her smells of old books and moonlight.

She smiles as the string turns pink in her hand; threading it expertly through a different piece of thread, she watches the pink spread. As it touches the other strings, it rapidly turns them into purples and blues and greens. The colors change smoothly, seamlessly, and they never stay in one place for long.

Her fingers are stained with the colors of peoples’ destinies.

Breathing deeply, she continues her tireless weaving. Occasionally she cuts a string; occasionally she adds a new one in. And the colors change and change, forever twisting through her hands.

Telling their stories.

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