S1015B

... The strangers who borrowed my scissors. So you have returned.

We brought the Golden Skein... Can you weave a fabric out of this?

Of course. That's not the hard part, after all. Torn, burnt, unborn - bring the imperfect to me, and by my fingers they will be made whole.

The fabric that goes into every article of clothing within the Grand Magasin, be it desired or abhorred, begins with a single thread.

As long as there is thread, we need only a nail to complete the rest. And my scissorblades, of course.

The Alterationist made her point with a single snap of the scissor blades on her torso.

<Give her the skein.>

Instead of taking the skein right away, she gave a little pause, her gaze momentarily lingering on the thread wound on it.

... I've never seen Golden Thread of such high purity before.

Though it was spun into existence from the depths, it will soon be fit for greater heights.

The instant the Alterationist takes the skein and loops its string over her fingertips, blades emerge from nowhere - and everything comes alive in an ensemble dance of hands and scissors.

... There used to be a different master here, long ago.

They treated the gold that grew in the cracks not as something to be worked with, but as something to be worshipped.

Their goal was to keep the gold as unblemished as possible as they worked. And so they took utmost care in creating every strand, every inch of the thread they would spin and drape onto this great tree called the Grand Magasin... never once working against its grain.

The meticulousness appeared almost religious to me. They refused to even breathe as they worked, in fact, because a single misweave of the nail was equivalent to blaspheming against the Voice.

And you've... inherited their position.

Yes. They left this place in my care and departed to grow closer to the Voice.

This brings me back. Not to good times, but it does bring me back.

Her hands, briefly stilled in reminiscence, resumed their work.