Over the years, the ivy would begin to slowly creep upwards, gently embracing the surface of the façade, the green leaves intertwining with each other and giving the effect that the house was made out of plants. Only the large windows on the upper floor and the tall oak door which led into the house would remain free of vegetation. That morning, however, the reddish brick wall was still completely visible.

One after the other, the three old women cut the distance between them and the building that would be engulfed by nature. The old woman walking at the head had a small, dark wooden box firmly clasped in her hands. Behind her, the second old woman adorned her frail neck with a necklace of five sparkling jewels in different colours: violet, blue, green, amber and grey. Finally, the third old woman carried a huge, heavy book bound in black leather.

The old women stopped in front of the door and, after a brief exchange of glances, the knobbly hand of one of them approached the door, its knuckles rapping against the solid surface. They were expecting them, so the door opened almost immediately. On the other side, they were met by a dark-skinned woman whose curly hair barely brushed her shoulders.

“Good afternoon,” the woman said, stepping aside so that the old ladies could cross the threshold and step into the gloom of the large hall. Opposite the entrance stood a large spiral staircase which led to the upper floor of the house.

“Good afternoon, Marta,” the first old woman replied as the last one closed the door.

“Please come with me. My sisters are waiting for us in the living room.”

Marta led the old ladies through a winding hallway, at the end of which a half-open door awaited them. On the other side, a small room welcomed them. The centre of the room was occupied by an armchair and two soft black sofas that surrounded a small coffee table, on which rested a large porcelain teapot with seven empty cups around it. Sitting on one of the sofas were two women in their twenties or thirties, both with hair as curly as Marta’s, while the armchair was occupied by a man of the same age, with dark hair and beard. The three of them gave the old ladies restless smiling looks.

“Take a seat, please,” Marta said, pointing to the empty sofa as she took up the space beside her sisters.

For a few seconds, everyone remained absolutely silent. The man, Marta and her sisters waited, trying to appear serene, for one of the three old ladies to say the first word. However, the old women seemed reluctant for some reason. The attention of all three seemed to be directed towards the man in the armchair.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Urd began, addressing the man, “but we would like to speak with the three of you alone.”

The man, mouth agape, eyebrows arched, looked at the three sisters.

“Sweetheart, can you leave us alone?” said Navsi, the middle sister. The man looked at his wife and nodded before rising from his armchair in a hurry and leaving the living room without a word, Navsi following him with her eyes, lips pursed.

“Tea?” Olga, the little sister, said in a voice that was louder than she’d intended. Urd, the old woman with the box, smiled and nodded slightly as Olga’s trembling hands poured the steaming tea into each of the six cups and passed them around the table.

“Thank you, my dear,” replied the old woman with the necklace as she accepted the cup Olga handed to her.

“So… What did you have to talk to us about? Has something happened?” Navsi said, tucking her long mahogany curls behind her ear.

“No, nothing has happened,” said Verdandi, the old woman with the necklace. “We are here, rather, to discuss something that must happen.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Marta.

“Indeed,” the old woman with the box agreed. “We need your help.”

“You need us to help… you?” Navsi said, eyebrows arched, body leaning forward, sitting on the very edge of the sofa.

“That’s right,” said Skuld, the old woman with the book. “You may find this surprising or hard to believe, but we are not as powerful as we once were… No, this we cannot do alone.”

“But what exactly do you need?” Marta asked.

“You may have already heard of something called ‘The Made-Up World,’” Skuld said. The three sisters cast inquisitive glances at each other before shaking their heads.

“It’s an anomalous world,” Urd explained. “The other worlds originated out of necessity, while the Made Up World was created on a whim.”

“For some time now, a threat has been growing within the Made-Up World that can bring the cosmos to ashes,” Skuld said.

“That is what we need your help with. You can stop the threat of the Made-Up World,” Verdandi said.

“But… we are only…” Marta began to say, but Skuld interrupted her:

“You are only three parts of the help the cosmos needs.”

“Three parts?” Marta repeated.

“Yes, three parts. Twelve parts are necessary, and that is the first thing to do: you bring together the Last Twelve.”

“What Last Twelve?” Navsi asked.

“The last twelve…” Verdandi said. “My last twelve descendants.”

Marta’s gaze met Verdandi’s impossibly pale eyes. Then, her attention turned to Navsi and Olga, who remained in deep silence, no doubt trying to make sense of the words of those three old women.

“How are we going to find the other nine?”

“The other eight,” Skuld corrected Marta while smiling at Navsi, who put her hand on her stomach, a smile almost imperceptible on her lips. “For the moment we have no choice but to wait several years.”

“When the time is right, you will end up joining together almost unintentionally,” Verdandi said.

“But wait a minute,” Marta said, pointing to the book that Skuld was still holding firmly to her chest. “Why are you coming to us? Why don’t you just use the book?”

“The book?” Olga asked, frowning.

“Yes, according to the stories, whatever is written in the Book of Events will happen.”

“I see you’ve done your homework,” Skuld said. “But I’m sorry to disappoint you: the book won’t be able to help us.”

“Why not?” Marta asked.

“You can see for yourself,” Skuld replied, handing her the book and a pen. Marta opened the heavy volume and, casting a nervous glance at the three old ladies, wrote:

The threat of the Made Up World will disappear before it can do any damage to the cosmos.

“Oh,” Marta gasped. As soon as she had finished writing, the words started to fade one letter at a time until not even the slightest trace of ink remained on the parchment.

“Some time ago, something happened. We did something,” Skuld corrected herself. “Since then, our power has been diminished. The book is no longer good for anything. Therefore, the only hope the cosmos has left is you, the Last Twelve.”