Mabel Pines Sweater Novels & Stories

“She planned all of it,” Mac said softly, looking at the photograph, at the small tree brooch barely visible on Mabel’s dress. “Dave, this woman sat in that house a hundred years ago, wearing the design of something that wouldn’t exist until you built it. How is that even possible.”

Reece gave me a bright smile, and asked me which of the sweaters would suit a younger woman that worked in an office setting, and I took a hard look at the two sweaters that she was holding up. “Ms. Hemingway here wants to buy her granddaughter a sweater for her first office job, and she’s having trouble figuring out which one to buy.” Reece had clarified. I smiled warmly at the woman and placed my hand on my chin. Both were suitable, but the light brown, knit sweater with gold buttons would probably work better with styling accessories suitable for the office. “I would choose the knit brown sweater, Ms. Hemingway. I’m sure your granddaughter would be able to style it in more ways than the m

Once the final pins were set for the wedding gowns, Vivienne clapped her hands, signaling her assistants to bring out the final, most delicate portion of their appointment. Two small, cedar trays were carried into the fitting room, lined with the softest, brushed white cashmere, fine silk thread, and spun winter wool. Laid out on the fabric were the preliminary sketches and tiny, half-finished garments for the children they carried. The clothes were incredibly small, designed with meticulous care—tiny, insulating coats trimmed in faux-fur, soft booties stitched with the subtle, silver sigils of House Winter and the Silver Peaks, and delicate gowns meant for a child’s first public presentatio

Soft enough for a five year old who would wear it every day. The lining was the important part. I chose a deep green for the lining. The color of the malachite. The color of Noah's sweater for the Carver Academy visit. The color he had worn for first impressions. Because green communicated mineral awareness. The lining would be his. Private. Visible only to him when he opened the coat. The things only the wearer knew were there. Marisol appeared at my station at eleven. She looked at the coat in progress. She assessed it the way she assessed everything.