The reborn cultivator's fingers suddenly trembled as she attempted to carve out one of her intricate sigils into the dark metal rivet. The usually steady mind of the cultivator wavered, drifting far from the task at hand. It lingered on the memory of Qatrand - *resplendent* in all of that silver - standing before a mirror in the ceremonial atelier's shop after trying one on at her urging.
The image was seared into her eyes (and a spirit fragment). How the suit had hugged Qatrand's strong frame… the way the light caught the silver threads and made her 'fortress' shine like a beacon. Her breath hitched once again, practically mirroring the instant she'd first laid eyes on her Qat in the wedding attire.
The awl in her hand then slipped - leaving an unintended gash across the surface of a piece of prototyping leather. The heiress cursed softly in her heart. Then she closed her eyes briefly.
"Focus."
