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They say the gods play favourites.
They say that if you were chosen by a god, you’re lucky. The road ahead may be winding and tricky but you can always count on Athena’s word of wisdom or Ares’ hand ensuring your blade always strikes true. Poseidon will never turn the tides against you, and Zeus will make it so that even in the harshest of thunderstorms you will be safe from lightning.
Don’t trust what they say, child. Gods are fickle and constantly looking for entertainment. Ares will not be there forever, he’ll lose interest and his chosen one will perish. Poseidon will drown you for the slightest misstep, and Athena’s voice will fall silent in the end.
It gets boring in the halls of Olympus.
The Moirai sisters are busy. They don’t have the time to pointlessly roam the stone halls of the sacred mountain because fate never rests, it never stops, like the waves endlessly crashing into the shores. You’ve already been touched by them, you know. As you took your first breath, Clotho’s fingers were light as a butterfly on your forehead when she made the choice to let you live, Lachesis close by with a thread held between her cold fingers, and Antropos humming a song of things that are to be. But that was it, they have let you be, and you don’t know the burden of their whispers in your ear whenever your feet stumble on the winding road.
You were touched by the Fates and escaped, my dear. You truly are the lucky one.
Eurydice is not as lucky as you are.
“She is going to be an important one,” murmurs Clotho, the spindle golden and ever-turning in her hands, her eyes not looking away from the screaming newborn being swaddled in cloth and held by the exhausted mother.
“We should stay close,” adds Lachesis, the thread so painfully short but sparkling in the brightening light of the morning. Eurydice is a child of dawn, and like dawn destined to last for a short time, splendid and ephemeral in her glow. Antropos sighs, her fingers tracing the songbirds carved on the cradle that rocked so many other babies and will continue to serve its purpose long after Eurydice grows up.
“It’s going to break our hearts,” she warns softly, eyes distant and unfocused. Lachesis reaches out to wrap an arm around her sister, lays her head on Antropos’ shoulder. “It’s going to be a beautiful song.”
“It’s going to be worth the suffering. All the beautiful stories are.”
Clotho joins her sisters, arms sweetly going around them, and the three Fates stand there for a long moment, invisible to the mere mortals, watching the mother and child.
Eurydice is not a lucky girl and so the Fates watch her grow up, and watch her lose one person after another, they watch her weep and grieve and harden. The innocent babe turns into a scared child, and the scared child grows up to be a young woman who never stays in one place for too long. They watch her lose her home, burned to the ground in a war that takes so much from all. They watch her bury family members, the Moirai’s black-eyed brother Thanatos gently taking the mortals away one after the other with a whisper of aileron feathers and no concern for the weeping girl.
“It is necessary,” Clotho reminds them as they watch Eurydice cut her hair short in mourning and pack a bundle containing all of her riches: a few coins, some bread and dried fruit, a blanket, and a few matches. They know it’s too few. The time is almost here.
“It doesn’t make it any easier to watch,” murmurs Antropos.
They say gods play favourites and it’s true, but the Fates aren’t exactly gods and they cannot change their judgements based on personal sympathies. They are three of the many pillars the world is resting its weight on, and it's their responsibility to ensure it keeps on spinning. So even if it requires sacrifice, and even if it breaks their hearts the Moirai will play their roles in a way that is as ruthless as it is effective.
It almost doesn’t happen, this love story that will be echoed throughout the ages. All it would take for Eurydice to never meet Orpheus is turning left instead of right, or twisting her ankle on a loose rock.
But Antropos whispers into her ear on the crossroads, and Clotho makes sure the mountain pass isn’t blocked by snow anymore while Lachesis kicks the stones away. If they were mortals, they would shiver in the last cold gusts of this long and unnatural winter as Eurydice gets closer and closer to meeting her destiny.
“I like this part,” admits Antropos when the two young people fall in love and the world bursts into song for this short moment filled with warmth and beauty. Hermes smiles wryly, all too aware of what the appearance of these three means but helpless to stop whatever tragedy is heading their way. You see, gods too can be just tools in the hands of the Moirai sisters.
Hermes knows that the immortal beings can’t love - not in the same way humans are allowed to, with abandon and not a care in the world. Zeus tries, they all know it, Zeus tries and he makes a mess of it every time. Hades loves Persephone like an owner loves his possessions, and as a result the world weeps.
You see, the gods can’t love so some try to live vicariously through others - even if it will end in suffering, what is it to these immortal creatures made of power and shadow?
There is a world where Hades loves Persephone and is able to let her go for six months each year because he knows it will only make the reunion sweeter. And another, in which Eurydice never meets the bright-eyed boy who is destined to be her downfall, or one in which Orpheus is her salvation instead.
There is a world where Orpheus’ love is enough and he doesn’t turn to look.
This is not that world.
So Orpheus loves Eurydice with abandon and without a care in the world. Clotho whispers memories of a fire that took her home, and a war that devoured her homeland, and the names of her lost loved ones into Eurydice’s ears. Antropos and Lachesis hold their sisters’ hands tightly because this has to be done. Spring has to come again.
“His train has left the station,” Lachesis says into the quiet of a starry night, young lovers resting on the bed of feathers, unaware of the storm on the horizon.
“He’s early. Why can’t they understand it’s not polite to be too early nor to be too late?” scoffs Antropos who is always on time. Clotho laughs even if she doesn’t feel like laughing at all.
“He’s in love. Doesn’t love make fools of them all?”
The train comes, and with it so does the storm. With every word uttered into Eurydice’s ears by the three sisters, with every gust of freezing wind and every time Orpheus’ eyes are distant and looking in a direction other than his wife - the thread between Lachesis’ fingers is shorter and shorter. Until, finally, Antropos snips it with her golden shears.
They watch Hades carry their little songbird away.
“She did her best,” murmurs Clotho. Lachesis only murmurs her agreement, eyes closed, thinking of the foolish boy who had the world in his hands and allowed her to slip away. Such wasteful beings, these mortals.
“We did what we had to do,” adds Antropos and it almost sounds like an apology.
I told you, my dear, you are the lucky one.
Don’t judge Eurydice too harshly, even as she stumbles through the dark. Her choice was not an easy one - but love will not fill an empty stomach, and beautiful songs will not make up for lack of care and attention.
And don’t judge the Fates either. They find no pleasure in watching the songbird toil in the depths of Hadestown, nor in seeing Hades’ wandering hands. But they have a part to play, and a job to do, and once it’s done well, that is their satisfaction.
So when Hermes, that useful tool in the hands of the Fates, sends Orpheus down the long path shrouded in darkness, Clotho whispers words of encouragement. Antropos hums songs about golden-haired children and his wife’s laughter in the sunlight, about never-ending spring and birdsongs. Lachesis makes sure he doesn’t trip on the stray rocks, and gently turns him away from gaping abysses waiting for the unsuspecting traveller.
It all serves a purpose - the Moirai watch with appreciation how Orpheus makes his deal, and then the song finally does what destiny needs it to do. It’s enough for the gods to fall in love again, and enough to make the world turn the way it is supposed to turn.
Orpheus’ love for Eurydice is enough to save the world.
The sisters know it’s not enough to save the woman.
“I wish it didn’t have to be so,” admits Clotho quietly, arms around her sisters as they watch the grand finale unfold. Even when Hades shows what seems to be mercy, the Fates know how this story ends because it has happened before and it will happen again. Time is not linear, no, it loops and twists, everything is a repetition. Even if it hurts like a fresh wound every time, there always is a boy who falls in love with a girl - though it may not be a girl, and it may not be one person. But there is love, and then there is a grander purpose, and a sacrifice that has to be made - even unwillingly.
The three Moirai will see to it.
So go, my dear. Go and count your blessings, spill a few drops of wine for the unfortunate lovers and just be grateful that you don’t have them following your footsteps and whispering dark dreams. After all, one day Antropos will reach for her golden shears and Lachesis will hand her the sparkling thread. Until that day, you are the lucky one.