Fate’s will was more than thrown-out dice, or games played in the dark. For she had her own will moving, changing with every breath like all after her. Unknowable rules of the world and chance were instead her steady hand weaving thousands of realities, every choice to be made into a tapestry as if merely thread. However, this hand was brought to an impasse, a figurative knot in the grand scheme that dragged her back to Hell.

  Early afternoon light bleached golden walls that further elongated tall shadows, while the busy work of daily life imbued the air. Despite the calm surface of the empty ever-growing bedroom, the air hangs heavy as if a secondary presence tried to take up the ether, forcing it downwards onto a lone figure. The very figure that lingers by the door was as straight and as stern as a queen looking at her subjects. A single cranberry eyebrow raised like an uneasy wave of suspicion. 

“You will not meet me physically, old friend? “The figure called, her voice bouncing off age-old vaulted ceilings. 

For a second, there was no response besides the shuffling feet of servants scattered around the oversized hallways. The air seemed to only grow in heft as if it gained consciousness and lunged forward like a nosy neighbour peering over a fence.

“The purpose of this meeting was so simple, I thought I didn't need to be in the flesh. “A voice ripped through the room. Although one of soft snark, it seemed to devour it whole. “If you're that worried, Your Highness, I can assure you I’m just as real as the air in your lungs or the silk sheets you rest on. Just because you can't see me doesn't mean I’m not watching. “ 

An amused but polite smile that never could cross over into a grin graced the figure's pale face. A rogue freckle formed a kind of dimple on one cheek, cutting through the overall cold exterior. She moved forward from the door frame at her sides, still not relaxed as black silk dragged behind her. Its ripples seemed as measured as the owner was.

 “Well, I knew that, Fate. I find it odd, that’s all. You come into my land, my palace, actually my bedroom of all places and won't appear in the flesh? “Life seemed to spark in the air between the small silent gaps like short bursts of electricity ebbing from an endless wire. The figure said nothing more as she spun in tight circles, hoping to pinpoint Fate. A few strands of hair fell loose and burned a blood red in the light. 

“We have known each other for as long as I have lived, although I would gladly take the gamble that you have known of me long before that. Still, you don't come even as a floating orb or gust of wind. “ 

The figure gave up on her spinning and sat herself down on an excessively plush chair. Her hand was mere inches away from a dark hardwood loom, a half-finished recreation of the garden lying just outside the window, sat center stage. 

Something mixed between a chuckle, and a sigh came from the air. 

“If you must know, this is a matter of temptation, a small mortal issue is all. “This time it was the figure's turn to laugh as her eyebrow rose again. However, curiosity overtook uneasiness. It was then her body allowed her to register the familiar scents of nutmeg, cinnamon, fresh apples and the slightest undercurrent of dried blood stuck to her nose like a permanent perfume. 

“You're in the right place, my dear friend. “The figure waited for a second, allowing the ruckus from the realm below to filter in. Music blared from the streets as vendors called shrill advertisements for silks, pearls and other luxuries. Underneath this all, if one strained, they could hear the soft footfall of dancers twirling.

“I would have been, regardless. After all, I need something from you,” Fate said. 

 At once the sound seemed to be pushed away like an unneeded distraction put out of reach. The figure's shoulders glided through her dress like a fish in a stream, highlighting the slight bulge of her muscles. In a second she squared them, drawing in a deep breath, letting the air give an unbothered mask about her. 

Except for her eyes, the hazy emerald colour shifted along a flurry of emotions. They never lightened in colour; instead, they switched between dark greenish browns as the gears behind them sorted years' worth of worries in seconds. They only hardened into a warm, earthy green as the figure gave into the silence.

 “Now don't look at me like I am asking you to kill someone. “Fate's voice was filled with dry amusement while the sun shifted and clouds darkened. “It might be in your skill set, but what I am asking for is a journal. The proof of your mundane life through words. “ 

The figure's shoulders softened like melting snow as she smoothed a stray hair behind her pierced ears. A red ink moved with the surface of her skin, making it come alive‌, just like the freckles it covered. The smirk, born half out of relief and half out of wit, formed without a second thought. 

“I’ve had thousands of mundane lives and had the proof for all of them. Even you, my dear, can't expect me to be a mind reader. You’ll have to name one. “ 

“This one will be quite nostalgic for you. I need to borrow the first one. However, I suppose that wasn't your doing and rather your husband’s. “The figure sucked in a short breath as the clouds outside grew heavy and dark like they were angered. 

“I am afraid that might be out of your skill set and not as cut and dry as either of us would like. You are aware just how old that journal is, right?” For once, there was no answer due in a short time. 

“We couldn't have left it rotting away in our hands, so we archived it. Taking it out will be a death sentence. I don't think the universe can stop it from crumbling in her grasp. “ 

The air heaved a long, drawn-out but motherly sigh, as if to command the room to her will. It slithered up her throat like a cold, slick serpent coming to take the moisture from the figure's mouth, turning her tongue to a wad of sand. Her legs crossed with little thought, making a few new wrinkles in the black dress pooled around her lap. While her eyes turned to the solemn shadows dappling swaying tree branches.

 “Something isn’t sitting right with you, but you won't speak it. Unless I got the wrong golden palace in Hell, that’s not you. Go on. You're safe to speak. Not like you care for permission much, anyway.” 

 The figure’s eyes didn’t move from thick twisted tree limbs that came closer to the window like claws, only to lose their nerve.  

“Change is on the wind, isn’t it?” 

“It always is, much like time, it keeps coming without much hope of stopping it. Yet that's not what’s eating at you. “ 

“I know it has to do with me or my land. After all, you ask for a very tender part of my past, and I refuse to be one of your plan's puppets. Just come to me as a friend or equal, if you call on me at all.“ 

Something in the room stirred as if to shrug, a subtle current of air caught in movement. 

“Have I ever come to you as a puppet? I come to you because you're the only one I trust to craft my plan into proper words.” Fate's voice was edging on warm as her voice seemed further away, like she wished to not be in the room much longer. The rain and it's drumming melody that had just begun seemed to highlight every word.

 A sense of relief mixed with weary dread spread like split ink through all of the figure's nerves. The feeling was like a thousand needles through her taller being some dull, but most are pinpricks of concern. All that came out was a short, hitched breath.

“These changes… We will either prosper or be led into ruin. Might I ask which? “

In, a single moment the presence of something other than the figure itself seemed to evaporate like morning fog. Leaving behind the hint of a few words with it."

“I expected you to know by now change isn't simply good nor bad.”