Sophie's quirs were as plentiful as the stars in the night sky. Her eyes, a peculiar shade of amber, had a habit of flickering like candle flames in the dark. Her laugh, a sudden burst of sound, could be heard blocks away, a melodic symphony that made even the most stoic souls crack a smile. Her nose, ever so slightly crooked from a childhood fall, twitched when she told a lie—which was rarely. She had an uncanny knack for turning the most mundane events into riveting tales, her words a spiderweb of intrigue that held listeners captive. Her hands, covered in a constellation of freckles, danced as she spoke, casting shadows on the walls that seemed to mimic the patterns of her speech. Sophie sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of fabric swatches. Each one was a different shade of blue, from the palest sky to the deepest ocean. She picked up a square of velvet, rubbed it against her cheek, and sighed. Her cat, Mr. Whiskers, leaped from his nap on the windowsill and padded over to her, curiosity sparkling in his emerald eyes. "It's for the new line, Mr. Whiskers," she said, holding the fabric out for his inspection. He sniffed it delicately , then turned his nose up and strolled away, tail flicking dismissively.