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think you can heal this.” Phoibe’s breathing became ragged. “Please, make sure she is cared for.” The silence was punctuated with the rattle of Phoibe’s breath. She struggled to raise her head and look around.
    “Priska?”
    Tears ran silently down Priska’s cheeks. She stroked Phoibe’s already cold hand, and pushed the hair back from her clammy forehead.
    “I’m here child.”
    “Dido. Name her Dido. And tell her…tell her how much I loved her, and how much I loved her father.”
    “Of course.” Priska hummed quietly, holding Phoibe’s hand until it went limp. Then she stood, closed Phoibe’s eyes, removed the infant from her mother’s arms, and pulled the soft blue wool up to Phoibe’s chest.
    It really looks as if she is sleeping, Priska told herself, and then shook her head as she noted the gray pallor that bespoke death.
    Looking around the room, she noticed the silver wooden cradle and soft ivory blanket lying therein. She took the blanket and wrapped Dido into it. She placed the infant into the cradle and, sitting in the chair opposite it, rocked the newborn to sleep with her foot.
    When she woke the next morning it was to the cries of a hungry newborn. Priska pulled herself up out of the chair, feeling stiff from a poor night’s sleep. She knew she would need to notify Damon of Phoibe’s death, and dread slowed her feet. Absently, she picked up Dido and was shocked at how much heavier the bundled infant felt that morning. She pulled the blanket away to change the child and almost dropped her.
    I must be hallucinating, was Priska’s first thought as she stared at the changeling. After shaking her head to clear her vision, she reached out her hand and stroked what could only be described as fur on the hindquarters of this new creature. Priska continued to unwrap Dido and found something that left her mind reeling. This creature, that just last night was an infant, was still human from the waist up, but on her back were wings, glossy golden feathers that deepened to a dark auburn. And from the waist down, she appeared to be a cat. A lion , Priska thought.
    Knowing this must be part of the curse Apollo placed, Priska tried to focus on what his exact words were.
    ~ προχωρήσουμε ~
    Priska had never been present when the Moirae, or Fates, appeared. She had helped birth many babies, but had always left shortly after. She knew this would be different. She also knew she owed it to Phoibe that Damon be there. For, perhaps, he might want the changeling.
    The three of them waited for the Fates to come; Dido cooed, unconcerned of the power they were awaiting.
    Morning passed into afternoon. Priska sat in the rocking chair, almost at ease with the idle time. Damon paced the small cottage, restless, uneasy, anxious. His mind reeled from the story Priska had shared. He would occasionally sit and weep, silent tears, for his daughter, for the cursed creature that was his granddaughter. The tension rolled off his body as he paced, and ebbed as he cried. The day passed slowly.
    It was just dusk. The sky filled with hues of purple and crimson. The air was starting to cool. Priska had fed Dido, and she was now sleeping in the cradle that had once been Phoibe’s. Priska stood to build up the fire for the evening wait. Damon, having exhausted himself, sat by the dying fire in a state of bewilderment. Priska stirred the embers, and as she straightened a bright flash lit the room.
    There they were.
    The three Fates stood in the center of the room. The young women were breathtakingly beautiful. One was fair, with long golden hair, a hint of roses to her creamy skin. Another had dark, almost black hair cropped at a sharp slant. Her pale skin and dark eyes emphasized the angularity of her features. The third had soft chocolate curls and warm russet skin. It was easy to identify them as they held their respective instruments in their hands.
    “Who will raise the girl?” It was Lachesis who spoke first. She