Allotted Apportionments
Eyelids down, pitch; they sleep unknowing in their beds, as
a slim form glides into view, illuminated here and there by the streetlights’ pale
glare. Do you see her yet in your mind’s
eye? Does she call for you, tonight, the
dark daughter?
The woman’s steps are sure, as she walks, the minimal breeze
blowing her long skirts from her ankles, here and there. A pattern of knots is twined throughout,
interspersed at intervals. The scroll is
crumpled in her left hand. Aisa pays it
no heed. No need.
The Spinners crowd about her feet, either side, gambolling,
gossamer threads flying from their limbs as they jump – up down - at her
heels. Their eyes gleam; their lips
upturned – the knotted strands binding them together straining slightly as they
seek to part from their partnership. They
need no telling. They never raise the
unwary before their time. The
measurements are too precise for disruption.
So has it been written into the Weaving.
Such is the command.
With a nod, her arm stretches, fingers pointing. “There,” she says. Her crouched companions hop in front to the
nearby doorstep, fading briefly from view as they reach the burnished wooden
frame. She nods again and approaches it,
after them. She, too, passes beyond its
barrier.
Inside, alone, she pauses at a doorway. “My son,” she says. Looking towards the one alongside it, she
says, “My daughter. We will see one
another soon. So states fate’s
sight.” With that, she turns, continuing
along the corridor to the final room.
Entering, she makes her way to the bedside, where the Spinners sit
grouped, waiting. Their heads turn en
masse, looking up towards their mistress.
Aisa leans, her shadow falling across the long length of the
body beneath her. A breath in, before
beginning.
“Night night. Sleep
tight, child mine,” she says, smiling infinitesimally, eyes a solemn contrast, as
she wields the sharp shears. They snip –
a single cut of separation. One more, one
less, is in their bed. No outward sigh. “Come, little ones,” she says. “He’ll follow after. The twins are still waiting.”
How many remain in her wake?
How heavy her toll tonight?
Comment
A slightly left field response to the photo prompt for this particular entry. I enjoyed writing it though!
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