Eternal Weave Wheel of Destiny — Morimens

Arachne labored under the shadow of a known futility. Day after day, she turned the spinning wheel, weaving into its vast, timeless web the joys and griefs of humans, the glory and ruin of empires, and the fleeting spark of poetry and love. She wrought masterfully-precise, restrained, and gentle. She discarded the "errant" threads and salvaged the "righteous" ones. And so generation after generation blossomed from decay; civilization after civilization rose from ashes to write itself anew. Yet the joy once kindled by weaving, the weariness worn into her bones, and her every last tenderness-all had long since withered, ground to nothing beneath the ceaseless turning of her labor. She had severed her own vulnerability. What remained was will alone, lucid and cold-so that every choice she made might rise from duty, and never from weakness. The true tragedy, however, lay not in the labor itself, but in her own merciless clarity. She knew that no matter how faithfully she mended and wove, the world would eventually succumb to the pull of the silent void. Civilizations were but sandcastles before an inevitable, encroaching tide. Her devotion was a grand performance staged for an empty theater; a vigil to which nothing, and no one, would ever answer. "Fate has long condemned us to eternal solitude-why should we endure so cruel a sentence?" "Tear it apart, destroy it... and you will escape this toil..." She lowered her eyes, gently snipping away those wayward thoughts, then bent once more to her work: weaving, sustaining, suffering, enduring... All futile struggles and all unsolvable fates had long been woven into this web. And there, at the center of the web, she beheld herself.