Cloud Patterns, Layered Grief

In Jiangnan, April brings a fine, misty rain.

As Shen Yunzhi's silver needle passed through the soft white satin, willow fluff drifted beyond the window. In the morning light, the needlepoint glinted like a cold star. With a gentle turn of her wrist, the thread traced a flowing curve: the edge of a butterfly's wing, so thin it was almost transparent, yet meant to capture the trembling moment just before a drop of morning dew fell...