“Thank you,” one said, and the other winked. 

            “Do you think I can dance this time?” the other said.

            “No,” said another, “There’ll be no dancing this time.”

            It was at that time I had walked in.  The three sisters were standing in a circle around a thick and deep disc carved into the rock.  Stalactites rained from the ceiling with their creeping pace and the underground stream running behind the sisters had a blue glow to it, as if it recognized me.

            Each of the sisters’ skin was bolt metal and in place of eyes they had small metal lamps that clicked on when they wanted to see.  Their hair was real hair and fingernails still fingernails, an odd fusion they were, some worse than others, but the sight of them always caused my stomach to become unsettled. 

            They did not start to chant for me as they had the day my father had come to them, when I was still just a little boy.  No, they were now tame and silent as I strode toward them, my full red cape playing across the uneven rock floor, armor glinting in the low light of the river.

            “So they tread here, these feet that bring him.”

            “Long have they trod.”

            “Long,” they said in unison.

            They were surprised to see me.  Their eyes turned on with twicks and thwattles and stared into me as if they’d been deceived somehow.      

            “Come here, dear child.  You are not the one we have been expecting.”

            I said, “I’ve come for it.”

            “Not yours-” their voices break.