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the witch called carmilla was preparing herself for her biggest undertaking yet. strewn about her cozy cobblestone home were things like her beloved 27-stitch sewing machine, roseworm thread in a variety of bright and swarthy hues, cuts of smooth leather, sherpa wool, fleece, wooden and plastic buttons, and scissors of multiple sizes and types. carmilla lived and breathed fashion. she readjusted the heavy pink canvas bag that rested on her shoulder as she unlocked her front door and stepped inside. having just returned from bluecrest beach, she had managed to harvest a bounty of the components needed for her newest project. days afterward she heaved a heavy sigh, tired yet proud, as she sat back and admired her work. the fabric itself started off simple at first - just a navy chiffon gown - but the witch had imbued its fibers with her magic. vibrant azure seashells, soft pebbles that burned white as a full moon, and more - the dress shone with these additions. carmilla held it in front of the far wall and marveled at the glow it cast, lambent rings of color dancing joyously across the room.