The golden thread

her workbench. The tiny spool glowed faintly, as if alive. She ran her fingers

one loyal client, a socialite named Celine D'Arcy. The dress was lovely in its simplicity

e patterns into the fabric. The thread wove through the material effortlessly, leaving beh

, Celine arrived

ut as Celine turned to face the mirror, her expression shifted.

Celine murmured, her

ean?" Mandy as

her fingers brushing the fabric. "Not just

ue looking thoughtful, almost haunted, and Mandy couldn'