The workshop hummed with the soft whir of sewing machines, the whisper of silk sliding over worktables, and the occasional snap of scissors through layered fabric.
Thalia walked in, eyes hovering around the space until she paused at the worktable nearest to the window, where a young seamstress named Belinda was stitching beads onto the bodice of a champagne-colored gown.
"Good morning, Luna." Belinda greeted Thalia as she approached.
The girl's fingers moved quickly, but Thalia's trained eye caught the slight irregularity. The third bead from the left sat a fraction higher than its neighbors, breaking the graceful cascade the design demanded.
"Brenda," Thalia said softly.
The girl's hands stilled immediately. "Yes, Luna?"
"May I?" Thalia gestured toward the gown.
Brenda held her breath, her hand visibly trembling before she clasped it behind her back. She stepped back, head bowed slightly. "Of course, Luna."
