The days blurred.
Morning, dusk, night. Over and over. The world beyond the shed slowed into a quiet hum while inside, Leia moved with purpose. A rhythm.
Stitch. Knot. Cut. Unpick.
Stitch again.
The bone-thread silk whispered through the layers. Metal-thread buzzed faintly, hot to the touch. The cloak in progress hung like a half-shaped wing — elegant, but incomplete.
Each time Leia pulled the thread through, her wrist tingled. The mark pulsed gently, like a heartbeat just beneath the skin. A quiet approval.
It wasn't magic.
It was focus.
---
She adjusted the shoulder fold for the fourth time, testing flexibility.
Too tight.
She loosened the weave, then sewed a small spiral—testing a rune she wasn't sure of.
The cloth tensed.
And held.
She smiled faintly, wiped sweat from her brow, and kept going.
---
Night.
Leia sat cross-legged by candlelight, pulling out a crooked line of thread. She squinted, pulled again. The hood had collapsed — too heavy, the fabric bunched in odd places.
She sighed, leaning back.
"Why won't you hold?"
Snip peeked through the half-open door, holding a tin cup. "You've been in here for two days."
"I know," she muttered.
He set the cup down. "Your mother says she's proud of you."
Leia gave a tired smile, not lifting her eyes. "Tell her I'll come inside soon."
Snip lingered. Then nodded. "You're almost there."
After he left, she stared at the ruined hood.
Then at the threads.
Then at her hand.
"I need more than shape," she whispered. "I need structure."
---
She pulled out the runic book, flipping until she found the page she'd been avoiding.
> "Binding Reinforcement: Layered Glyphs of Stabilization."
Not meant for beginners.
But she wasn't a beginner anymore.
She pulled a fresh strand of bone-thread and began again.
Stitch. Hold. Knot. Whisper the rune as she shaped it.
The needle glowed.
The mark on her wrist echoed back.
---
The next night, she tried it again.
This time, the hood stood.
Smooth. Supported.
A double-lined arc across the back reinforced the fabric, the glyph glowing faintly under the seams. The curve was elegant. Purposeful.
It had weight, but no drag.
Leia stood before the mirror, slipping the cloak over her shoulders. The fabric shifted, adjusting to her body. She pulled the hood over her head.
It settled.
Not like a coat.
Like a second skin.
She turned slowly.
The hem fluttered near her boots. The rune-lined collar hugged her neckline.
It wasn't complete yet.
But it was hers.
Stitched by hand.
Stitched by will.
Stitched by blood.
---
That night, she left the door to the shed slightly open, letting the moonlight pour in.
She didn't sew.
She just sat, letting her creation breathe.
The cloak shimmered in the light.
The threads pulsed faintly.
And the mark on her wrist did too.
---