She’d always existed.

She wandered the streets of the city. Men atop carts preached of a time when only light existed, but she remembered it differently.

“Skotádne!” A glowing young priestess called, scampering down the temple steps toward her friend. “How are you? Have you come to celebrate the Dionysus feast with everyone? Well, except the… you-know-who.” She motioned her eyes toward a section of the city where new terra cotta walls rose over the homes and droning prayers reverberated over the rooftops.

Skotádne shook her long, thick black curls as they trailed the binding behind her head. “No, I’m afraid I’ll need to join the festivities tomorrow. Tonight I will perform my own celebrations to Ariadne.”

“Walk safe. You know how revelers get.” The priestess bowed and scattered flowers around Skotádne before moving out of her path.

Humans.

As the sun sank in the sky, her skin blended into the shadows of the incoming night. Their energy pulsed through her. Soon.

Hurrying out of the village to avoid the din of excited masses awaiting the fall of night and the start of the Dionysus festival, a glint of a man with goat’s horns caught the corner of her eye. Pan? Turning toward the new wall surrounding the newcomers from the east, the caprine features faded from sight, leaving only a man with flowing hair gazing out over the slope and down to the Mediterranean Sea.

But who?

He turned and made eye contact. His body jerked synchronously with a sudden tugging as she looked down at her finger to see the glint of a tiny thread.

“Who are you?”

Neither could be certain who spoke. But darkness continued to fall.

“I must go.” Skotádne rushed down the path away from the wall; away from the mysterious man. An alien emptiness tugged inside her ribs as she gained distance and slowed her pace to a walk. She neared the hidden collection of trees standing in their mirror puddles at the base of a rocky outcrop. She gazed up at the ridge as her surroundings lost the definition of their colors and faded into a deep blue.

Though no one followed, a knowing ache grew. Skotádne stared down at her hand where the glint had been.

The Moirai have some explaining to do.

Featured Image By Lo Potter Created Using Canva