Work Text:
Cut. Cut. Cut.
The scissors sunk into the fabric, as smooth as a knife cutting through butter. The blades are sharpened.
Cut. Cut. Cut.
The woman thinks of her beloved. Her supplies treat her better than him these days. She quietly wonders when they fell out of love.
Cut. Cut. Cut.
There was no reason to think of that. All she needed to focus on was straight cuts and keeping her blades sharp.
“The more you sharpen, the better it cuts.” She whispers to herself.
———
The sky was cloudy that day. The streets weren’t as crowded as usual. Windows were still open, and vendors still stood around. It was peaceful.
She wandered down the road, returning to her shop.
Her mind got fuzzy when she saw that blue hair.
Next to him, a woman with a red kimono.
Her stomach twisted and she made a sour expression. Red. A red kimono. It was so beautiful, perfectly crafted for her.
She turned around and walked the other direction, somewhere where they wouldn’t be.
———
Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.
The blades pierced through the red silk, cleanly cutting it. It’s detailed, expensive.
Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.
A tear slides down, stops on her chin. Her cheeks are wet, her eyes are red from crying. The red of her eyes almost compares to the fabric.
Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.
She focuses on the cutting. She carefully stitches every stitch. It’s going to look gorgeous.
———
It was rainy that day. The streets were mostly empty. A few windows were still open, and vendors took cover under overhangings. People seemed downtrodden today.
She wandered down the road, returning to her shop.
A head of blue came into view. There, on the bridge.
Next to him, a woman with a green sash.
Her heart dropped and she made a saddened expression. Green. A green sash. It was so beautiful, matching her hair.
She left quickly, going somewhere they wouldn’t be.
———
Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.
The blades pierce through the green fabric, cleanly cutting it. It’s simple, charming.
Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.
Her cheeks are dried. She wipes her eyes, red from crying. The red of her eyes almost compares to the red of her new kimono.
Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.
She’s focused on the cutting. She carefully stitches every stitch. It’s going to match perfectly.
———
It was storming that day. The streets were empty. Windows were closed, and vendors had stayed home. People seemed to be tense.
She wandered down the road, returning to her shop.
There he was again, at a store.
Next to him, a girl.
Her jaw clenched and she made an angry expression. Yellow. A yellow hairpin. It was so beautiful, bought just for her.
She hurried past them, going somewhere they wouldn’t be.
———
She looked down at her blades.
Crimson.
Surely they weren’t always that color?
———
She stands in front of the mirror, admiring her work. A masterpiece, a labor of love.
A red kimono. A green sash.
Finally, she carefully places the yellow hairpin in her hair.
She’s become his ideal woman.
It was beautiful. She was sure he would feel the same.
———
It was a clear day. The streets were bustling. Windows were open, vendors stood around chatting with customers. People were chaotic, gossip and rumors flew around.
It seems there’s been a tragic family murder.
She wandered down the road, returning to her shop.
She saw no man with blue hair today.
———
Cut. Cut. Cut.
The blades sunk into the fabric, as smooth as a knife cutting through butter. The blades are sharpened.
Cut. Cut. Cut.
She works on the kimono quietly, mind quiet as usual.
Cut. Cut. Cut.
Her blades were still red. She thought nothing of it.
The more you sharpen, the better it cuts.