Just a little update on the ongoing sitcom that is my life:
As I’ve mentioned before— I crochet, I sew, I craft. Essentially, I’m a one-woman glamour coven armed with yarn, needles, and far too much misplaced confidence. Today I hauled out my sewing machine, fully prepared to conquer this gorgeous bit of thrifted lace I rescued from the brink of landfill doom. Then it dawned on me: I could absolutely turn this into a Peaky Blinders–worthy dress. Aunt Polly herself would nod in approval… provided I’m willing to sacrifice roughly 90 hours of my life hand-sewing beads onto this beast.
So there I am, staring at my machine, hands already cramping from crocheting every single day for well over a month, and what does my mind do? Wander off— naturally —to writing a chapter where Harri gets the metaphorical crap kicked out of her because Tommy’s decided she will be fitted for a dress for one of his “political” meetings. Because obviously the Shelby solution to everything is “violence first, tailoring second.”
And honestly… how in Merlin’s name is Harri Potter, the Girl Who Lived, meant to handle being stuffed into some heavily beaded gown, looking every inch a Shelby and not at all like someone who routinely knives people in the dark?
Then again, let’s be real: Aunt Polly wouldn’t let Harri simply walk into a room.
She’d make her girl strut and look terrifyingly magnificent while doing it.
