Curses and snake bites

A note from your Narrator. (A Prologue?)

Before we truly begin, I must admit to something.

This story haunts me

From beginning to end, this story and my part in it, haunts me to this very day. From the inner turmoil of those who saved not only themselves, but each other, to the deaths that were strung along in its name; Fate.
This tale leaves my heart heavy, and my cheeks tear-stained. Though I do suppose this will just be one of many Gut-wrenching tales I will collect through out my long years, yes, this will be one of many tales that leave my eyes misty.
Such is the life of a being such as I, I suppose. War and violence in your name, but it is with little shame that I say this story, this tale, I will forever treasure it.
And I will forever wish to forget it.

I suppose it'd be in my interest to share with you, dear reader, who exactly it is, narrating the story you have the burden of finishing. Many people call me many different things.
Some call me 'The mother,' whilst others lean towards 'Goddess.'
I personally, think that's all a little dramatic, I prefer something much simpler.
So please, just call me Fate.
I am a cruel mistress to many, but a warm truth to many more.
I have the guilt of sitting upon my throne of stone, with a crown made of nothing but torment and guilt, and threads of time that lace through my fingers and collect in piles at my feet. Tears splash from my cheeks to the floor, as flood after flood of prayers and memories overwhelm me. One day, I do not doubt I will drown in them.
It is no blessing to be Fate.
Before this story really began, I used to sit mindlessly, watching as strings passed through my fingers in heartbeats.
Scenes changing in mere breaths, each and every influenced by me.
By my very being.
It is a hard concept to wrap my head around. I think I would've much preferred a busy office setting, with a tired buzzing computer, that clicks everyone I press a key and decide the fate of the next poor being to cross paths with me.
But instead I sit, and I watch, and I see, and I feel each and every scene that flows through me.
And that's just the way it was, for many, many years, I sat. Overcome by emotions, and still as washes of hope crashed through me, only to be ripped apart by sobs of pain thanks to some natural disaster. I didn't think there was anything that could be done.
It was just the way it was.

Until a day came along, that tilted me off axis for the rest of my never-ending days.
A spiel of thread slipped through my fingers, and bundled on my lap.
It lay still for a moment, and I felt a familiar wash of confusion wave over me, though I knew those feelings weren't my own (they rarely ever are.)
The strings of time seemed to come alive, they curled up my torso, something I'd never even noticed before, and wrapped around my neck. Before I could even let out the shuddery breath I was holding, strings had latched onto my eyelids, pinning them open and filling my heads with all sorts of blurry images and colours.
Something I'd never seen so much of.
After what seemed to be a few moments, though I'll never really know, time is a concept that I never really got to grips on, the blurs cleared, and ten strings began to show me a story.
A story that wound change my life forever.
The story of the time, I was wrong.