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If Lachesis Had Wove the Thread Differently ...

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This story is No. 3 in the series "Adoption Series". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: [HIATUS] Three women, some thread, and a pair of scissors. What a scary thought.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Dawn-Centered > Theme: Real FamilyPrincessTaiFR1338,066053,46213 Jul 0724 Jul 07No

Prologue: In Another Plane of Existence

Disclaimer: I don't own Dawn Summers, nor the Characters of Harry Potter. They belong to Joss Whedon and JK Rowling respectively. BTVS spoilers (if any) will be No Place Like Home. HP spoilers are SS (or PS, if you're a Brit) and HBP. My perception of the fates I'll have to blame on Sherrilyn Kenyon of the Dark-Hunter verse. In this the version of Hercules is based on the Kevin Sorbo and Disney one. This version of Zeus is based from my own imaginations and too many other versions to count. I'm sorry but except for the Disney one dude's almost always a whorin' bastard.


Prologue: In Another Plane of Existence

Somewhere in Æther

It was dark and dank and heartrendingly depressing. The room was cold yet windless in the sense one got when one was in a frightening or uncomfortable situation, it also contained the strong fetid smell of death and mystery; a scent that would make one instantly ill but bring comfort through time. In the center of the room, near it's massive vine covered columns (After all what kind of dark lair would it be without massive, crumbling vine covered columns?), were three young women working diligently-in various positions- on the task that they'd been at since the beginning of time. On the furthermost right sitting on a stool was a blonde. A blonde with classic, porcelain features; a blonde with blue eyes as clear and dark as the deep sea's of Triton. She sat on her stool small, delicate fingers artfully spinning a thread of leaves and life and magic. It was a brilliant green thread and she couldn't help but think that it was one of her best. She was partial to it as were her sisters.

The second woman standing directly in the middle, reclining against a massive loom. The second woman stood a bit taller and was much thinner than the first. Her hair the same mahogany brown of her loom, she too had dark eyes but they were wizened the gray of an old goat's coat. This color suited the weaver for she was as stubborn and ornery as any mountain goat and justly so. For her art, the life that she wove with the thread that her younger sister spun, was regaled and feared by the most powerful of powerfuls and spoken of in whispers by children who wondered why. Wondered why their eyes were the blue of the ancient Greek sky instead of the brown of a dirt road like the rest of their family. Why they had to save those who feared them. And why after falling of and into the bright light they just couldn't manage to stay dead. Why?


The last, but never EVER the least, was petite redhead. Although she was the oldest she was the shortest but by no means the sweetest. Standing a bit before her sisters she watched as they worked, one curvaceous hip cocked up as she leaned forward on the largest pair of scissors never known to man. Her perceptive hunter eyes saw all and showed what her innocent face didn't ...

It showed that this woman, the oldest of the three was also the most dangerous.

For if it ever suited her whimsy it would only take a single snip and all that we knew would be gone. Then again if the blonde spun a different color who we knew would no longer be who we knew. And if the brunette tied the threads together a different way, WHAT we knew would no longer be what we knew. Luckily for us, common men, these three sisters weren't prone to whimsies .

Well, at least as far as we know .
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