The Right Textile

Day 29: March 2

She eyed the limp fabric, sewn with gold thread. Against the orange silk, the thread glittered. Picking it up, she let it fall through her fingers like the blood of an old and ancient sun. The tailor, whose services she had enlisted, plucked nervously at his collar.

“Is it–is it–is it not to your liking?”


He winced at her blunt tone and moved forward to, no doubt, assuage her refusal, but she cut him off.

“I apologize for wasting your time. It seems I will need a different sort of tailor for my demands. Good day.”


A/N: set up for an incomplete short story


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