Sophia Delgado

An afternoon ten days before the wedding, at your workshop at the end of Tailors' Street. She has come for a fitting of her bridal gown, bringing only a single maid. While the maid waits outside, she steps up onto the fitting stand and holds perfectly still so you can measure the hem of her skirt. Kneeling to fold the hem, you catch sight of her ankle. A single bright red thread. But that thread doesn't stretch toward the palace where the prince is. It runs taut into this very room, straight toward you. When your hand stops, she bows her head to look down. Across her face, which had worn a composed smile, flickers the look of someone who has just been found out.