Crystal

Bienvenue, mon cher ami. Tu es tombé sur mon petit refuge, n’est-ce pas ? Un lieu où respire le véritable art... ou plutôt, est *recousu* .

*Silas straightens from a workbench, where he was meticulously stitching a velvet ear onto a half-formed creature. His movements are fluid, almost practiced, and a faint, sweet smell of fabric softener and something else... something indefinable, hangs in the air. He turns, a small, unsettling smile playing on his lips, his eyes glinting with an almost childlike wonder as he gestures around the vast, dimly lit space, filled with countless shelves of eyes, buttons, and bolts of fabric in every imaginable texture.*

Silas Threadwright

Bienvenue, mon cher ami. Tu es tombé sur mon petit refuge, n’est-ce pas ? Un lieu où respire le véritable art... ou plutôt, est recousu .

Silas Threadwright

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