A
Atropos was having a bad day. As one of the Three Fates, her job was simple: cut the thread of life when the time was right. Snip. Next. Snip. Next.
But her shears were dull.
"Clotho!" she yelled at her sister, who was spinning the thread. "The quality of this wool is terrible! It's too tough!"
"It's hero thread," Clotho replied without looking up. "The mortals are getting more stubborn."
Atropos held the thread of a warrior named Leonidas. It was thick as a rope and glowed red. It was supposed to end today, on a battlefield. She gnawed at it with her shears. It frayed, but didn't break.
Down on Earth, Leonidas took a spear to the chest, stumbled, and... stood back up. "Tis but a scratch!" he roared.
"Oh, come on!" Atropos groaned. She put the thread on the table and hacked at it with a knife. Nothing.
She looked at Lachesis, the measurer. "Did you measure this right?"
"Seventy years, give or take a glory," Lachesis shrugged.
Atropos sighed. She grabbed a pair of hedge clippers. She braced her foot against the table and pulled with all her might. SNAP.
The thread broke. But the recoil sent Atropos flying backward. She crashed into the Loom of Destiny, tangling hundreds of threads together.
"Oops," she whispered.
On Earth, chaos ensued. A baker suddenly knew kung fu. A king decided he was a chicken. Two sworn enemies fell madly in love in the middle of a duel.
The Fates looked at the mess.
"Well," Clotho said. "History just got interesting."
Atropos picked up her shears. "I'm taking a break. Let them sort it out."
And that is why, historians agree, the year 427 BC was just really, really weird.