The oil lamp flickered golden inside the tent, throwing a warm glow against the biting chill of Vesperia's night.
Greta perched on a wooden crate, her fingers flying with uncanny speed. In her lap lay a plain cotton dress, cut apart in several places. With needle and thread, she deftly tightened the waistline and shortened the hem, every stitch precise and sure.
Every so often, her eyes drifted toward Lucy, freshly scrubbed by a servant. The little girl now stood with her hair neatly combed, though her frame was still heartbreakingly small. In another corner, Leon wrestled with a shirt gifted by Ligastraus—far too big for him.
Greta chuckled softly at the boy's struggle. He kept rolling up the sleeves, only for them to slip down again, tangling his movements.
"Come here, Leon," Greta called gently. The boy shuffled closer, and with practiced hands she folded the sleeves and locked them in place with a few quick stitches. "There. Better now, isn't it?"
