The golden thread

scarf against the biting wind and glanced at the time on her phone. Another late night, another disappointing sales

like Verona Royale and Luxe Maison dominated the headlines. Mandy had no illusions about competin

She turned toward a dusty antique shop she had walked past a hundred times wi

heavy with an inexplicable tension. The owner, an elderly ma

cular?" he asked, his voice li

the room. Inside, nestled among tarnished trinkets and faded textiles, wa

" she asked,

old piece, said to be from a bygone dynasty. It's

ng it was a sales pitch. "Ma

ars, ambitions, things hidden even from themselves." He leaned forward, his

ead held her in place. She imagined weaving it into one of her designs a bold evenin

ch?" sh

, but Mandy was in no position to question a bargain. She paid in cash,