My new hat, "Lachesis," and chapter four of Woven Stories: The Legacy of the Fates. "The Tower of Truth."

I write these lines while watching the Swedish snow blanket everything in white through my window. Everything is buried beneath the pure mantle of mist. And as I do this, now in January after the holidays, I continue to bid farewell to 2025. A year that left me exhausted by its energy and movement but also brought a great impetus to do everything my creativity demanded: writing, knitting... Perhaps we cannot define time or seasons; they all bring gifts and take away something we may cherish. In the end, what remains is reality, the truth that dwells in the brevity of daily purpose is beautiful, and that is enough, although it is always nice to look back and contemplate with gratitude all the paths we have walked, and to know which ones we want to continue and which ones we will never tread again.

Hat knitting process

This time I bring you this "Lachesis" hat in honor of one of the characters from these little stories that accompany my crochet work. My imagination is hard to contain.

It's a hat I crocheted using the tapestry technique. I used LM Brilliant acrylic yarn, for a size 6 crochet hook. I alternated three colors, and I think it turned out quite charming.

I'm sorry I can't show you the pattern, but I haven't had time to write it out, and one of my goals for 2026 is to stress much less. So, I'll briefly tell you how I proceeded.

After making the ribbing with a half double crochet in the back loop, I worked one round of single crochet and then began a round alternating a popcorn stitch with a double crochet.

The next round is all double crochet in each stitch, and the following round is another row of double crochet.

When the hat was tall enough for my head, I started doing the same thing, but in each round of double crochet stitches, I decreased every two stitches. I continued like this until the hat was finished.

Chapter 4 of Woven Stories: The Legacy of the Fates. The Tower of Truth.

Chapter 4: The Tower of Truth

The two of them entered the house, and Michael invited Justine to sit by the fireplace to talk. Justine hesitated for a moment. It had been a long time since she had spoken comfortably with a man. He was incredibly attractive, yet he seemed entirely unaware of it, completely devoid of vanity. The conversation flowed naturally, and they chatted for a long time about the landscape, the wool, the sheep….

She surprised herself, seeing how spontaneously she opened up to this man as if she had known him her whole life. At no point had she felt any discomfort, only the peace that emanated from him. No furtive glances, no hidden agendas, no seductive dalliances, no forced displays on his part, and none of the pressure of the game of hunter and prey. Despite his evident power, he was a simple, salt-of-the-earth man who only enjoyed sharing his food with her. He had served some cheese and hot chocolate for the two of them on the small table in front of the hearth.

“Do you live here alone?” she asked.

“No, I live with my dog, my sheep, and all the birds that pass through here when they migrate,” he replied with a laugh.

In that moment, Justine fervently wished to know this man more deeply and to become his friend. She felt so at ease, so safe…. It seemed strange to her. Someone trustworthy with whom she could simply open up and communicate without issue was a rare thing indeed.

He suddenly grew serious and said, “Fiona has told me a great deal about you; I was curious to meet you. She believes in you very much. Although she hasn't been able to tell you much, she knows you are strong.”

Justine interrupted with a laugh. “Well, I only came to pick up the wool, and the way back isn't that long….”

Michael added, “She sent you to me for more than just wool…. You see, Fiona and I are not exactly what we seem. Now, without knowing it, you are part of something greater, and I don't think you can understand it so easily, but you must trust Fiona and me, no matter what happens.”

“What are you talking about?” Justine countered. “I don't understand anything. What do you mean by that?” Justine remembered that moment in the morning when she had found only a body of light where Fiona had stood the night before.

“I think I’m going crazy,” she said.

“Not at all. Everything is fine, but you must see it for yourself…. Take my hand.”

Looking into his eyes, Justine took the hand Michael offered. In that instant, as she felt the warm embrace and tenderness of Michael’s hand, she was momentarily blinded and heard: “Follow the path,” Michael’s voice said like a distant echo.

When her vision returned, Justine was standing beside a tower that rose infinitely toward the heavens. It was night; it was pouring rain, and only flashes of lightning illuminated the firmament. It was cold; the starless sky was nothing but a black shroud.

“What am I doing here? Where am I? What is this? Michael!” she shouted. She looked around but found no one.

The tower, a massive stone-brick structure without windows, stood powerful and unreachable. She tried to enter by circling it, but there was no door. Only narrow stone steps wound around the tower like a snail's shell. Far above, a faint light could be glimpsed. She understood that to enter that fortress, she would have to climb that infinite, spiraling staircase.

She placed a foot on the first step where water and mud had gathered and began to climb.

The rain was so heavy and the wind lashed so fiercely that she could barely open her eyes, and she struggled to breathe as water entered her nose. Blinded and gasping, she took in gulps of air through her mouth. She covered her chest as best she could, but the water had soaked her body in seconds. She climbed and climbed. The lightning terrified her as the staircase, which coiled around the tower like a serpent, grew narrower and narrower.

She couldn’t believe what was happening to her. She wept in bewilderment; her only choice was to ascend that interminable tower. The cold robbed her of mobility. She tried to go faster, but felt she was making no progress. That tower was inexorable. After a while, she had climbed such a distance that vertigo seized her, and she avoided looking into the abyss, pressing herself against the cold, damp brick wall. She almost crawled, clinging to the structure. The cold had numbed her hands and her body, which moved only by the sheer force of her will. Her clothes dragged at her with the weight of the water, and she felt them clinging to her skin—freezing, as the wind chilled the water further. Her body temperature dropped lower and lower with the icy cold of the altitude. She had lost track of how much time had passed climbing that cursed staircase, but her instinct forbade her from stopping; she had to reach the top at any cost. “If I slip and fall, I will die. I can only keep climbing.”

Weeping and with the absolute certainty that she would die there, she saw the first light appearing in a tiny porthole that opened in the stone structure. “I have to hold on,” she thought. “I am close, and I must know what is happening here.”

She kept her eyes on the ground, step by step, stair by stair, continuing to circle that impregnable bastion, until, to her surprise, she set foot on the final step. She looked up, and there, almost in the middle of the celestial vault, having left the clouds far below, the moon appeared like a beacon in the midst of that immense darkness. To her left was a great wooden portal, decorated with old shapes carved into the slats.

She groaned as she strained to open the door, and the wood gave way. Before her opened the path to a grand gallery with high ceilings, flanked by columns and sculptures. The symbols carved into the bluish ivory felt like velvet; the jewels embedded in those sculptures sparkled as they caught the beams of moonlight filtering through the great glass windows. Justine scanned the details of that majestic nave in awe and walked straight toward what looked like a great circle at the end of the hall.

Beyond rows upon rows of columns, at the far end of the enormous naos, stood a massive circle in the shape of a cogwheel—like a great metal sun—and chained to it was a woman of celestial beauty. Her head was bowed, hidden under a cloak of red hair, her white dress covering a weak and exhausted body.

She lifted her gaze and said, “Justine… you made it,” and smiled languidly.

“Fiona?” Justine replied, frightened. She did not recognize this woman physically, but her voice was identical to that of the old woman. “Is it you?”

Lifting her weary head slightly, she looked at her with violet eyes and said, “Yes, a part of me is Fiona, but my real name is Lachesis. Some say that my sisters, Clotho and Atropos, and I are the daughters of Nyx (Night); others say we are the daughters of Zeus and Themis, goddess of Law and Justice. What I can tell you is that we have always been here.”

“Be silent, Lachesis,” a sharp voice snapped from behind the cogwheel to which Fiona—or as she had called herself, “Lachesis”—was chained. “Do not mention my name,” the voice continued as a presence emerged from the shadows.

And here you have the video in case you want to just listen