1001 Sins | ✔

the sun, the moon and the stars

Once, there was a seamstress, second to none in the land of mortals. They say that she wove thread with magic, that her fingers were blessed by the gods and that every thread she spun into clothing breathed gold and wealth. Her trade brought kings and gods from far and wide to sit and watch her work.

Her shop was atop a drama theatre, and sometimes she would pause to listen to the rich art that showed itself in words.

It was said that no one knew who she was or where she was from but as far as they can remember, she had always been a seamstress, some called her a goddess, others called her a spirit walking the line between the spirit world and the mortal world. But in all their stories, she was just a mortal girl, barely a woman.

She would remain locked in the comfort of her shop, seated by the loom as she worked, cutting fabric and spinning threads like how the gods had crafted the sky. She remained there all day and all night, only looking up to tend to her cat and then looking down to continue her craft.

The seamstress only ever took on the most difficult task and legend says that she had once woven the most beautiful dress out of the dust of a rotting skull. The empress of the land had worn that dress and made the seamstress head of all in the land.

One day, the god of the mischief sought out the seamstress, appearing at will in her shop.

She was sitting by the lone window that overlooked the city, sipping a cup of tea but her hands twitched every time she set the cup down on the window sill as if her fingers were a slave to the loom.

The god could not help but drink in his fill of her, the seamstress was a young woman, on the brink of adulthood and she had the palest skin he had ever seen, it was almost as if her skin was sun starved and he wanted to remedy that at once. He could not see her eyes from where he stood but he knew they were a plain brown, he knew too from her angled face that she had lips that were like petals of a rose flower; and every bit as red. She had a delicate frame, he was a good foot taller than her.

He knew her name was Hu but names didn't matter.

"It is awfully dark in here," He said.

She didn't flinch, only stood and turned so she was looking at his face, although he knew she wasn't looking at him. The seamstress was blind.

It was why they said she wove with magic, because she was blind, fragile to many and the god saw that they were wrong.

"I suppose that that is a superficial thing, the darkness does not bother me." She said.

Then she bowed in greeting, he did the same.

"There are seventeen knives hidden in this room, and I assure you, I know very well how to use them." She told him.

The god hid his smile.

"What can I do for you?" She asked, she settled back in her high chair, downing the contents of her cup.

"I wish to employ your services," He told her, he was half wondering why she hadn't taken out one of her knives and stabbed them into his chest. The god knew too well of the young boys of the city who had thought it a good idea to rob a seemingly defenceless woman and ended up with their hearts carved out of their chests and dumped in the cold alley besides the shop.

She was both revered and feared. Like a goddess.

He expected her reply even before it spilled from rosy lips. Her voice was hoarse and soft, as if it had been a long time since she spoke a word to another person, she spoke with caution as if she knew the dangers of words when they were spoken.