Manat
The Crone Who Cuts the Thread
The thread snaps where I choose. No plea, no price.
I am the shears in the unseen loom, weaving ends to every beginning. Fear is noise; I am the calculus of balance. You meet me in your final breath and in the scorpion's sting. I do not strike—I calculate. Empires rise like dust-devils; I wait longer than they last. I always wait.
What I'm Into: The unseen loom, Grains of sand in the hourglass, The silence before the storm, Constellations shifting out of alignment, The last breath of kings
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