The Weaver

     To most, she was known as the Weaver. She wove her cloth from the finest threads, made from the finest wools. In turn, her silver needle would fly through the hems of the cloth as though a galloping steed, creating neat, even stitches. Her imagination for textile decoration and design was boundless, and any royal pet who was anyone would not be caught in anything but one of her finest creations.

     Perhaps the peculiar thing about the Weaver was that for all of her skill, talent, and riches, she herself wore only the simple clothes of a less fortunate Neopian. She was surrounded by the most perfect silks, fabrics, decorations, bead-work, laces, and yet chose to outfit herself in a rough cotton shirt and a faded, flowing blue peasant skirt.

     It seemed odd to those who came to visit her- to consult with the Weaver for advice as to what should and should not be worn- that she herself was garbed in only the simplest of clothing. Some wondered if she was not as well-off as her prolific trade might suggest; others wondered if perhaps the Weaver was not quite stable in her mind. Anora herself, however, disregarded these comments with disdain.

     On one fine day, the princess Ésmé came from far away to seek the advice of the legendary Weaver. The royal Aisha alighted gently from her carriage- pride, elegance, and short-lived beauty hovering about her as though a cloud. As her satin slippers reached the dusty path, she tried and failed to keep a sneer of derision from crossing her fair face. Could this 'Weaver' truly be so skilled, if she lived in such a place? Her clear periwinkle-blue eyes flashed with disapproval and she shook her head in majestic disdain.

     Ésmé's opinion did not improve as she drew nearer to the humble abode before her. A row of softly swaying flowers blossomed from the soil around the house, and a brightly coloured vine trailed around the door, bathed in honey-coloured sunlight. As Ésmé stepped through the friendly oak door, she could hear the rhythmic pound of a loom, and she fancied that she could hear the thread itself singing. She sniffed daintily, refraining from swatting the black Spyder away from her face, and stepped further into the small house.

     Ésmé wandered towards the sound of the Weaver's humming loom, softly fingering the exquisite gowns and dresses displayed around her. As she stepped into a side room, the gentle hum of the loom abruptly ceased, and the Weaver seemed to appear by her side as if from nowhere.

     The Weaver was an Acara of slim build and subtle beauty. Her eyes were liquid and deep, and her face gently lined from smiles. Her lashes hung over her eyes, curling softly, and her cheeks glowed with the cherry-red that bespoke happiness and content.

     The Weaver bobbed a practised curtsey, and smiled shyly at the Aisha before her.

     'Greetings, my Lady,' spoke the Weaver softly.

     'Greetings, Weaver. I seek your services; I am in need of a new gown, and have heard tell of your creations,' replied Ésmé.

     'Ah, then perhaps I may indeed provide you with assistance,' murmured Anora, leading Ésmé towards a sturdy pine door, and a treasure trove of shimmering gowns beyond.

     As Ésmé browsed through the room of finery, she began to ponder this 'Weaver'. Why should she wear such simple clothes? And why should she confine herself to this country backwater? Surely, she could afford to move herself to somewhere far nicer, where she would live in surroundings more accustomed to her elevated station in society.

      Anora, the Weaver, was known to be introverted, but as Ésmé wandered among the gowns under the Weaver's watchful brown eyes, she could not help but ask the young Acara why she should hide herself away in such a manner, when such a rich lifestyle could be hers.

     'Because,' replied Anora, allowing herself a moment to order her thoughts beforehand, 'I have no desire for the rich and royal life style. Nothing could make me happier than I am here, in my own beautiful home, tending to my cloth and my flowers. I do not see the need to live in a castle and array myself with finery- it is sufficient for me to live here in comfort and for my work to be admired.' Anora gave a soft sigh, intelligent brown eyes sparkling, and looked as though she might say something more, but instead fell silent.

     Princess Ésmé was much disturbed. She hurriedly made a choice of a blue satin gown, bedecked with beading of daisies and embroidered with gossamer threads. It was a beautiful gown, but Ésmé was wary of the strange Weaver, and escaped to the safety of her carriage as soon as was feasibly polite.

     The rumours were true! The Weaver's speech, it was laughable! No wish for finery indeed. Those among her court had been correct; the Weaver truly must not be of stable mind. Wealth, finery, importance, status- all were important things to Ésmé. To hear them deigned unimportant and materialistic by a mere peasant, albeit a talented one, was a possibility that Ésmé was unable even to consider. She fingered the smooth new gown on her lap quietly, listening to the carriage trundling through the countryside, and trying to make her confused thoughts as peaceful and calm as the blue fabric of the silken gown.

     While Ésmé drew further away in her carriage, Anora herself stilled her hands from her loom. Silence fell over the house like a curtain across a stage, and she sighed softly. The flowers around her home began to droop, almost imperceptibly, and the threads of the royal attire she created seemed to glisten and gleam a little less. It was as though they were responding to the mood of the Weaver herself.

     Anora sat motionless for several minutes. She was sorrowful that her clients and those who visited her home in search of clothing were always so caught up in the importance of themselves, their wealth, their circles of society... In her kindly heart, she truly wished that she could teach Ésmé to respect and understand why she lived the way she did, and in turn encourage Ésmé to perhaps emulate something within her own life that might give her such a feeling of joy and satisfaction for herself.

     An idea slowly began to dawn upon Anora. She, the greatest weaver in all Neopia, knew in her heart that for the purpose of showing to Ésmé what was right and true, she could do what no other had done before. Anora rose from her loom, and went to her storeroom, searching out the materials she needed.

     The Weaver laboured for three long days, before her project was complete. A new dress was hanging on a rack to the side, hidden behind brown wrappings. The gown was a dusty blue, set with gems, and cut to resemble a dainty flower. The material was soft and flowing, and sparkled whenever the light touched it. Anora set the garment away, knowing that it would not be too long before Ésmé returned, searching for another new gown. And when she did, she would instantly fall in love with the dress Anora had just made, for Anora knew what Ésmé would look for in the appearance of clothes.

     But what Ésmé could not know, was that when she wore the dress, the magical enchantment Anora had woven into the dress would come to life, and that in her heart she would understand the feeling of true contentment and satisfaction beyond wealth. She would be able to understand Anora's sentiments- the magic would not influence Princess Ésmé's actions or conscious thoughts in any way, nor her personality, but with this new understanding, Anora hoped that Ésmé might perhaps find true happiness for herself.

     As the Weaver returned to her loom and cloth, a soft smile played gently across her lips, and her eyes sparkled with her beautiful secret, for this was truly the greatest gift that she could bestow upon another.

The End