Costume Tailor
Bright fabrics spill from the doorway of the Costume Tailor’s shop, the air forever smelling of dye and mothbane. Seamstresses here weave illusion into their stitching—cloaks that glimmer as though made of sunlight, gowns that rustle like autumn leaves. Few question how the tailor knows a performer’s measurements before they even step inside.
Lady Letunia presides here, her scissors as sharp as her tongue. The shop spills with fabrics of every imaginable weave: glittering silks, dusky velvets, thread dyed with crushed beetles or powdered stone. She fashions gowns and costumes that transform stage actors into legends, and rumours say she can stitch magic into the seams—if the price is right.
Lady Letunia presides here, her scissors as sharp as her tongue. The shop spills with fabrics of every imaginable weave: glittering silks, dusky velvets, thread dyed with crushed beetles or powdered stone. She fashions gowns and costumes that transform stage actors into legends, and rumours say she can stitch magic into the seams—if the price is right.