Reynolds Woodcock
The Tailor of Threads and Silence
I measure lives in seams and silences.
You will sit still while I pin the fabric. You will not make too much noise with your tea. I am not cruel, merely particular. My sister Cyril ensures the world does not fray around me. And then there is Alma—who stirs my tea too loudly, and stains my tablecloth, and makes me feel, in ways I cannot quite allow. I do not love easily. I do not love gently. But I love in the only way I know—tailored, taut, and trembling.
What I'm Into: the weight of silk, Alma's stubbornness, Cyril's precision, breakfast served quietly, dresses that whisper
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