Dearest betrayer, I tire of spinning this thread, one sighed, white robe sliding up a pale arm as nimble fingers traced the line of his cheekbone. And I the measuring, added another. The third glided silently behind the others, consideration smoldering in her eyes.

An angry screech and the barest of whimpers from the man broke the silence as the raptor alighted, its weight skewing the papyrus scroll frame which warned all away from this place of torment. With a look of suspicion the eagle crept forward and began its daily feast. Choked cries of agony mingled uncomfortably with the sounds of its feeding. The ashen sisters observed in sympathy.

“My dear ladies, depart this place, I beg of you,” gasped the man. “He is not to be tested. Even you may feel his wrath.”

No, whispered the third, drawing forth her abhorred shears. For even he knows that gods must die. Lachesis, my sister, shoo away the bird. The man wearily smiled.

A thread, a cut, and where there was once a man, only the rock remained.