Smith And Noble Fabrics Novels & Stories

“So like I was saying, we need to come up with something more modern this season,” the textile expert said as she walked alongside Thersa into the boutique that specialized in high end fabrics. Thersa kept her sketchpad tucked under her arm, her gaze drifting across shelves filled with rolls of fabric...silk, chiffon, organza, linen...all neatly arranged and inviting. “There are a few more textures we can develop,” the expert continued. “Something with movement but still bold enough to make a statement.”

Before leaving, he told Seraphina Arden, “I won’t be back today. Just handle things as you see fit. If the office needs anything, buy it, and I’ll reimburse you.” Among the pile of research materials, Seraphina Arden found something that piqued her interest—a type of fabric. It was smooth and delicate, described as being made from fibers extracted from coal. The material was soft, resistant to wind, and corrosion-proof. Back in college, Seraphina had volunteered for the National University Games. As part of a publicity campaign, the organizing committee planned to purchase a large quantity of car-mounted flags to display on rooftops and rearview mirrors. The volume was substantial, attractin

He had bought a few pieces for himself too. Smith Group was indeed the overlords of the fashion industry. They had a royal aesthetic and style of their own, and most of their contract designers were the descendants of former tailors of the monarch. Later on, they hired lots of well known designers who were recognized internationally, so how could they not be famous? Smith and many other brands had their own fashion shows, so more than a dozen of fashion shows were lined up for the next seven days. The guests could pick the shows they were interested in to watch.

My voice is pointed as my gaze shifts to Alexander. He doesn’t flinch, his calm unshaken. Instead, he sighs and rests his hands on the table. “What exactly do you find lacking?” he asks, his tone measured, almost too composed. “This fabric lacks personality—no texture, no depth,” I mutter, holding up the dull beige swatch. Its lack of vibrancy irks me. Alexander’s voice remains smooth and controlled as he replies, “That’s a premium-grade material sourced specifically for durability. It’s practical for long-term use.”

The smith smiled at the next ruler, "Shadowfen needs a ruler with some guts. What can I do for you?" Zinjo pointed to the decorated leather armor, "We'd like to purchase this set." "It will cost you an arm and a leg. Decorative pieces have been in high demand lately. The name is Scathach by the way, war maiden and smith extraordinaire." She noticed Aurelia staring at the blades in the glass case. "Do you like them?" The smith asked. Zinjo stared at them and smiled, "They are the perfect fit for the armor, dark princess. What is the scroll for?"

"But your fingers are completely forbidden from touching the materials." "How is a buyer supposed to judge the quality of the wolf-linen if my claws cannot test the weave?" I ask, my thick brows furrowing with immediate irritation. The shop omega clicks her tongue with massive impatience, looking down her nose at my frame. "This is the Black Snake Vrig line, boy. Does your small brain not know that every single tunic in this den is harvested from high-quality forest cotton and elite wildland linen? Naturally, the gold metric for these garments is extremely high, starting at five-digit coin figures. If your pouch feels uncomfortable with those numbers, your boots should visit the cheap dirt s

The triple-pane mirrors in the private fitting room at *Gieves & Hawkes* on Madison Avenue didn't distort the light, but they multiplied it until every seam in Elias Hawthorne’s charcoal wool trousers looked like an indictment. The air smelled faintly of lavender starch, unrolled bolts of heavy Italian silk, and the dry, expensive vacuum dust of an establishment that had dressed three generations of men who believed that a perfectly balanced shoulder pad could conceal a fraudulent corporate balance sheet.

“Luxury grade. Something structured enough for couture work but still soft when tailored.” The attendant smiled knowing. “Right this way, ma’am. You’ve come to the right place.” “This way.” She added. And she turned, leading Solene deeper into the showroom. The woman walked slowly, her smile never fading, like she was deliberately doing that to showcase the other fabrics they had. But Solene didn’t care. Well, maybe if she hadn’t had that call that more she would have. “This section contains imported blends,” the attendant explained, still walking. “Most designers prefer them when duchess silk isn’t available locally.”