Stitch X Novels & Stories

he frowned, his brows furrowed as he studied me as if checking for more damages, "You should stay still. Or else you'll reopen your stitches" "Stitches?" I repeated after him, confused. I had blood that could heal anything. What does he mean stitches? I ripped the blanket off, my gaze sweeping over my own body. My stomach clenched at the sight of the stitches and bandages. "But...wasn't I supposed to heal faster?"

Whatever you do, do NOT pass out! Squeezing the jagged cut together the best I can with one trembling hand while trying to adhere the butterfly stitch proves to be nearly impossible and agonizing. Sweat beads across my brow as I carefully placed the last strip of a butterfly stitch over the seam of the bloody wound. It's still bleeding a little, but no longer gaping open on the side of my arm.

At the specific careful work of the preliminary drape. At the commission brief. *The person I actually am.* "Tainted," I said. "Yes," Marisol said. "Hidden Stitch," I said. "Which I built from a needle and a spool of thread in a basement apartment in Philadelphia while raising a child alone." I paused. "Which existed for three years before anyone connected it to Adrian Wolfe." I paused again. "Which has been making things for people who wanted the person they actually were." I looked at the fabric. "Tainted."

“Very good! Now, for the bonus exercise. We’re only going to stitch halfway for this exercise because I need to fill the pillowcase with cotton. Are you ready to learn the cross stitch? It’s a nice stitch to learn and increase finger dexterity.” Unable to decline, Zen nodded. He knew the basics and was already measuring the thread without Annabel’s prompting. Once ready, Annabel taught Zen the art of changing stitching directions to form that X-shape stitch. According to the weaver, it was a decorative stitch. The unique shape does not make the stitch hold stronger. However, there was a rhythm to this unique stitch. Zen struggled to find his rhythm. However, after counting the steps aloud an

Stitches are running through my body, it's like I've landed in a bed full of thorns. "Aaahh man, I can't reach Xan. He seems numb," I moan. I try to use my Alpha strength to feel as less discomfort as possible. But it doesn't work, I can't remember where the pain is worse. My back stings like there are needles stuck in it, my lower abdomen is on fire and my breathing is short.

“Not yet. Just… let me hold you. Please.” So I stayed, my head resting against his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow from its frantic pace. Stitch appeared with his medical bag, his expression grim as he took in my injuries. “A clinic would be better…” “Here,” Knox interrupted. “Do it here. I’m not taking her anywhere else right now.” Stitch didn’t argue. He worked efficiently, cleaning my wounds, checking my ribs, making sure nothing was more seriously damaged than it appeared. The front door opened. With more in the hallway.

The future she was sewing together, one careful stitch at a time. Made once, kept being made.

Barely noticeable—unless you knew where to look. There, in the left shoulder seam of the gown, a double stitch had been drawn. Two tiny, purposeful dashes. She hadn’t included that in the original sketch. It was something her mentor used to mark as a hidden sign of tailored armour—a metaphor. Invisible from the front, but strong enough to hold the entire structure. Her mentor used to call it *the ghost stitch*. Ximena felt her blood still. Only two people knew about that symbol: her, and— No.

He didn't miss the thick drop of a tear that silently collapsed out of her eye, right on his chest before trickling down on his abdomen. She was quick in her movements, disinfecting the wound before stitching it to the best of her capabilities. He was the best patient she could ask for, compliant and silent, letting her do as she wished. When she was satisfied with her job that she had pulled impossibly faster, she sighed, yet again meeting his miserable eyes.