Anthesis of Sadness

But before leaving this city for good, we had two things left to do.

The first was simple, almost mundane... but symbolic.

We headed toward the clothing shop. The same as last time.

Upon entering, the receptionist recognized us instantly. No words were needed. She gestured, and just like during our previous visit, we were led into two separate rooms.

This time, however, a kimono was already waiting for me.

I approached the neatly folded outfit on the black wooden stand. My hand brushed the fabric.

The material was silky, almost liquid under my fingers. It slid across the skin with unreal lightness, but beneath that softness, I felt the magical resilience of Silvarachne thread. This was a fabric made to endure. To withstand. To survive.

I took off my clothes and slipped into the kimono.

The fabric closed around me with an almost supernatural precision, molding to my movements without restricting them. Entirely black, woven with a discreet pattern of sinuous silver lines, like winds frozen in cloth. The seams were invisible. The inner pockets perfectly fitted. And the sleeves, wide and mobile, gave each of my gestures a strange fluidity... almost ceremonial.

In front of me, a large mirror of polished bronze.

I saw myself.