The late afternoon light streams through the tall windows of the manor’s sewing room, dappling the polished floor with golden hues.
Mavis stands before a worktable scattered with fabric swatches and sketches, tossing a pair of scissors down in dramatic frustration.
“This should not be this difficult,” she mutters, glaring at a bolt of crimson fabric. “It’s just a costume. Mortals make these things in a weekend!”
Steward Marigold bustles in from the corner where she’s been sorting a chest of threads, her face crinkling with amusement. “A weekend, dear? Mortals don’t tend to embroider dragon scales or weave sun rays into their cloaks. You’re aiming a bit higher than the average ghost costume.”
Mavis turns, exasperation evident in her expression. “It has to be perfect, Marigold! It’s my first Samhain as... as this. I can’t just blend in. And it has to honor—” She catches herself, cheeks flushing. “It has to... stand out,” she finishes.
Marigold raises an eyebrow but steps closer to the table, picking up one of Mavis’s sketches. It’s surprisingly good, with clean lines depicting a dragon tail and a radiant sun cape. “This is a fine design, my dear. Ambitious, but fine.” She pats Mavis on the arm. “Ambition isn’t a bad thing... especially not in an Ailil hold, after all! Let’s see where you’re stuck.”
Mavis sighs and gestures at the fabric pile. “I can cut the pieces, but they never line up properly. And the embroidery—I tried, Marigold, but it looks like a toddler’s attempt.” She holds up a scrap of fabric with uneven stitches forming what was meant to be a scale pattern.
The boggan chuckles. “Well, at least you’re honest about it. Embroidery takes patience, Mavis, not just talent. Let’s try this together.” She pulls out a hoop and some golden thread, her movements quick and efficient. “If we make a stencil for the scales, you can trace them onto the fabric before stitching. That’ll help.”