Handstitched

The small cluttered room was dimly lit by candlelight as a short figure worked diligently into the night. It was peaceful and quiet, a rare moment where the world stood still. Nimble fingers dance along the cotton fabric, placing colorful pins with careful precision. While her odd mismatched eyes quickly darted from spot to spot her mind was calmed, she was in her zone. Crafting alone like this was euphoria for the piety Cossetling. This was her happy place from the real world.

She was as strange as the garments and goods she created. Lucile Paquin, also known as "Ms. Patches" for her off appearance. Her body and face were pulled together with mismatching fabrics and brightly colored thread. Some would say she was too much, too hard on the eyes, but she had enough love for herself to overshadow any naysayers.

With a light smile on her painted lips she began to thread her needle. It was a breeze, in fact she loved to show off that she could do so with her eyes closed. The bright red thread glided between her fingers as she laced it into the fabric. She was making something very special, a custom apron for her dearest friend, Lady Mystrella. Ms. Patches fully knew that her gift may not be received well, but it was a gift filled with love! Surely Lady Mystella's cold heart could be melted by such a wonderful and love filled gift! Ma. Patches felt giddy with glee as she happily put in the blood, sweat, and tears into the fine garment.

Outside the stars twinkled as the estras fell from the night sky. Ms. Patches kept on quietly working. A normal person's fingers would be aching, bleeding even but hers? She was made for this. The hard grind of the needle and thread was nothing to her. 

Stitch, stitch, stitch.

Slowly the fabric came together and the apron was formed. Ms. Patches checked over her work carefully, then checked again, it had to be perfect to please the grump Lady. When she was finally happy she stood back and tiredly admired her work. She could feel a strong sense of pride well up in her chest. 

Morning came and naturally the lazy little seamstress was sleeping in. Lady Mystrella sighed, that cossetling has been a pain in her side from the moment they met. As her hooves angrily clapped on the marble floor she thought of the many ways to punish the ungrateful little creature. She reached the maid quarters and scrolled up to Ms. Patches’ door, her lectern already on the tip of her sharp tongue. Without a care she threw the door open and gasped. It. Was. A. MESS. It was vile how cluttered and disheveled the whole room was.
Reluctantly Lady Mystrella entered the room, a small path led her to the back where she saw the sleeping tailor knocked out, and in her uniform as well! Just as she was about to open her mouth something about the window caught her gaze. With a jaw dropped she stepped towards the apron on the mannequin. 

“I-I made it for you Lady Mystrella! Spent the whole night on it I did!” Ms. Patches stood up quickly to show off all her hard work. It was much in the fashion of Ms. Patches, everywhere,  colorful, and tacky. You couldn’t figure out where your eyes were meant to land, it was so much and so in your face. And none of the fabric matched, of course. The only thing that Lady Mystrella found appealing was the bright red thread, though she wouldn’t admit it.