Ren stepped into Mistress Weaver's shop and immediately felt like he'd walked into a fabric dream narrated by chaos.
Spools of thread floated mid-air, spiraling lazily in circles like they'd given up on physics entirely.
Shelves hummed.
The ceiling glimmered with strands of color — gold, red, silver — weaving themselves in slow motion.
In the corner stood a row of mannequins — full-sized, strangely life-like. Too life-like.
REN (staring):
"Are they… breathing?"
MARRA (offhandedly, setting her mug down):
"They sigh sometimes when bored. Ignore it."
Ren walked a little deeper in.
The floating threads moved like they noticed him.
A soft tug brushed his hand.
He turned—
and suddenly every thread in the room lunged at once.
REN:
"Wait—nonono—"
The threads wrapped around him like lightning made of silk.
Around his arms, legs, waist, chest — not painful, just absolute.
REN (muffled):
"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING—"
MARRA (turning back, blinking once):
"Oh for fuck's sake. You touched the float-threads?"
REN (bound like a failed mummy cosplay):
"I didn't know they were armed!"
Marra snapped her fingers once.
The threads recoiled instantly — like scolded puppies — and unraveled off him in one smooth motion.
Ren wobbled, caught himself on the mannequin.
It moaned.
MANNEQUIN (deep voice):
"Ohhh… strong hands."
REN (jerking back):
"What the—DID THAT THING JUST TALK?!"
MARRA (deadpan, pulling fabric from a drawer):
"They're enchanted. They talk. Complain. Sometimes sass me.
Don't touch the blonde one. He's flirty."
REN (staring as another mannequin flexed):
"WHY ARE THEY FLEXING?!"
MARRA (shrugging):
"Because I let them. I stitched a little autonomy into the joints. Keeps the workspace... lively."
She held up a long, glowing red thread that pulsed slightly in the light.
MARRA (calmly):
"My gift's threadcraft. Any fabric, any motion, any material — I control it.
I can sew wounds shut. Rebuild armor mid-battle.
Or, y'know... bind you to a ceiling like a birthday balloon if you piss me off."
REN (genuinely unnerved now):
"So you're just casually... a magical fabric witch?"
MARRA:
"Tailor."
REN (gesturing around):
"This shop is sentient."
MARRA (sipping tea again):
"It's better than most people I know."
The mannequin behind Ren slowly turned its head toward him.
MANNEQUIN:
"You'd look great in crimson."
REN (backing away):
"I'm gonna sit over here, far away from the flirty torso mannequins and haunted silk tornadoes."
MARRA (smirking):
"Suit yourself.
Just don't sit on that stool.
It bites."
Ren froze mid-step.
The stool hissed.