The Seamstress Of Sardinia 소설 & 이야기

Time to start lifting some weights. “Of course it is. I designed it,” the seamstress snorted, handing the book back to her assistant. Then she shooed me off of her stool, picked it up, and walked earnestly out of the office, her team practically running to keep up. “I guess she had somewhere else to be?” I commented to Bishop, who frowned. “Strand is quite busy, as most of the attendees at the ball are employing her services; however, I’m afraid her manners have always been a bit lacking. I will speak to her before your next appointment,” Bishop assured me.

I bowed to him, ashamed to meet his gaze, “Please, Sir, I'm not suitable to work here. You could get some other person.” He scoffed before getting his ass on the table, crossing his arms against his chest. “Who said so? If you weren't suitable for the job, I wouldn't call you for an interview.” I raised my face a bit, and our eyes locked, sending chills down my spine. “We need a seamstress, lady, and I know you can do a nice job.” I shook my head, my words coming in ragged breaths. “The truth is that I'm not a professional. It would be advisable to get a professional. I didn't even know that I would be called for an interview.”

The way he said it made it seem like there’s meaning in it. Subtle. Intentional. I nod but my chest feels tight. ——— Maris’s seamstress shop always smells of linen and cedar. I’ve been here a few times. Sia took it upon herself to pick designs for our mating outfits. She didn’t let me choose so I don’t know what it looks like. Honest truth, I’m kinda scared. I mean, it’s Sia but I let her do it anyway. I love our friendship. It’s not everyday you find two women from different packs with deep rooted hatred to find a friendship in each other.

The seamstress’s carriage rolled through the gates of the Crescent Moon Pack under the early glow of the morning sun. Guards bowed low in greeting, their movements measured, respectful. The seamstress nodded through her veil, concealing her expression as her driver halted the carriage at the familiar courtyard. Her driver climbed down and began unloading the boxes one by one onto the long wooden table that had been prepared for her. This table was always hers, her small kingdom of fabrics and threads. She set to work at once, unfolding the gowns with steady hands, arranging them in neat, elegant rows.

Luca took me to the tailors across town and I entered the shop the kind woman behind the counter looking down as she beaded a dress. “Hi,” I gave her my best cheery voice and twitter my fingers in a wave. “I’m Arianna Captuo I’m here to pick up the fabric for my sister's wedding dress,” I told the woman who got very wide-eyed and went another shade whiter. “M-M-Miss Caputo..But I- I wasn’t told you’d be coming today, I mean what I mean is no one had called your sister didn’t she didn’t,” The woman flustered as she headed into the back of her store quickly grabbing the fabric and holding onto it with clutched fingers.

the head seamstress replied “You can check for yourself when I am done, just spare me a space on your machine” she replied rolling her eyes “Follow me then” the head seamstress finally said and led her to the store where she took everything she needed for her work “You have the Prince’s measurement with you right?” she asked “You can have them, it’s over there” the head seamstress pointed and she marched to one of the machines

Even Sandra, after a moment where she looked at the ceiling and exhaled through her nose very loudly like she was releasing something she had been holding, said, "Fine. But I am going to need the supplier contacts immediately and someone better have a proper workspace organized because I am not cutting fabric on a folding table, Hannah. I genuinely refuse." "I hear you, Sandra," I said, and I fully meant that. I had noticed from the start of the meeting that Cora had not said anything at all. Cora had been my head seamstress for two years. She was the type of woman who could look at a sketch and tell you exactly what was going to go wrong with it before you ever touched the fabric, and she n

But it’s Signora Gaspari, the elderly head seamstress, who commands the room. She’s a tiny woman with improbably nimble fingers and eyes that seem to see straight through fabric and into the soul. She tuts over the placement of a dart, murmurs adjustments in rapid-fire Italian, her hands smoothing the gown over my hips. The dress itself is a masterpiece of dark emerald green velvet, strapless, sculpted to my body like a second skin before flaring dramatically at the floor. It’s undeniably beautiful, regal even. Another carefully chosen statement piece.

she screamed. "Don't worry, I'll figure out a way to fix it," I reassured her, trying my best to stay calm. Frantically thinking of a solution, I quickly suggested, "Let me text Santina, and she'll bring us a sewing kit. I can sew your dress back together, don't worry." Santina was one of the clergywomen and I'm pretty sure she will have something to fix Chiara's dress. The minutes ticked by slowly, and soon, an hour had almost passed. We tried to remain patient, but our anticipation grew with each passing moment.

"Mistress, guests are arriving at a fast pace." "Thank you, Bastain," I kept my eyes on the names of the people I had invited. They mainly were my most trusted allies of Pandora, the lords who forever served the Mistress. "Mistress, may I speak from what's on my mind?" "If this is about my costume," I turn my head and sigh. "I had an earful from your wife." The tailor who made my costume was Bastian's wife, Mavelin. She mainly designs and makes the attire for everyone's clothes here—a spider-humanoid with six extra retractable arms to do her work efficiently. Mavelin can create twenty outfits within an hour. She is one of the best.