When she visited the lacemakers it was a cold day, half-lit by lazy snow clouds. The workshop sensed the chill and the threads that hung from every surface had stiffened, turning the room into an array of tangled cobwebs. Black flowers bloomed within them, old experiments that had been casually tossed aside in the midst of frantic endeavour. The ladies that worked amongst the little clinking bobbins wore their hair in wool scarves and gossiped merrily to each other as their fingers played out their deft song with the thin linen strands. The overseer took her towards the back of the room which was lined to the ceiling with drawers of various sizes. Each one was sitting at a awkward angle, attempts to shut them despite their material overflow had all failed in a rather spectacular way and lace spilled through the cracks like little plants gasping for air. Hastily, bundles were thrown in front of her, cream scallops, thinly-veined leaves and labyrinths of scarlet ribbon unfolded themselves before her eyes. She hardly knew where to look first.