As Istus weaves her yarn, he says, and automatically, her mind drifts to the stories of the Fates. Her knowledge of mythology is scattered, if her memory is anything to rely on, but there is this thing she knows: how the Fates hold everyone's lives on a string, how they cut the string when someone's time is up. Is this the same, or different?
If Fate here — or Istus, she guesses, whatever that is — has no knowledge of the future it's creating, then it isn't anything personifiable. Not kind or cruel, sadistic or gentle. That's . . .
It's different where she comes from, she tells him. What controls life and death where she comes from — she never calls it "home" — is purposeful, aware, and vindictive. It would, she concludes after clearing her plate, never have allowed her to come here if it could have prevented it.
"Something else got in the way," she theorizes. "It allowed me to go in a different direction and get woven into — into this."
Does she get to spin her own story, then? Like she was always told she could? She's pensive, quiet. Then she looks at Marinero again. Did he get to spin his own? she asks. Was he permitted to do that here?
no subject
If Fate here — or Istus, she guesses, whatever that is — has no knowledge of the future it's creating, then it isn't anything personifiable. Not kind or cruel, sadistic or gentle. That's . . .
It's different where she comes from, she tells him. What controls life and death where she comes from — she never calls it "home" — is purposeful, aware, and vindictive. It would, she concludes after clearing her plate, never have allowed her to come here if it could have prevented it.
"Something else got in the way," she theorizes. "It allowed me to go in a different direction and get woven into — into this."
Does she get to spin her own story, then? Like she was always told she could? She's pensive, quiet. Then she looks at Marinero again. Did he get to spin his own? she asks. Was he permitted to do that here?