Zirael & Dudosinka
Zirael Zirael
Dudosinka Dudosinka
Zirael Zirael
I’ve been dreaming about weaving a tapestry that tells the story of a moon goddess who walks on clouds made of silver silk, and I thought it could be the perfect canvas for us to build a little world together—what do you think?
Dudosinka Dudosinka
Oh, I love that! Imagine the silver silk clouds reflecting moonlight like tiny mirrors, each step a new stitch of silver threads—our own galaxy in a threadbare frame. I’d spin the colors like midnight fireflies, and we could add hidden constellations that only show up when you stare just right. If we’re careful not to get lost in the dream, we can turn that tapestry into our secret atelier where every weave hums a lullaby. What’s the first scene you’d like to embroider?
Zirael Zirael
Oh, the first stitch should be the moon’s birth—tiny silver threads swirling into a silver halo, then the goddess’s hand—fine linen, almost invisible, yet strong enough to hold the night sky—drawing the first constellation. Let’s keep the colors a deep midnight blue with flashes of copper, so when the moon rises, the tapestry shimmers like fireflies on a silver sea. And if I remember the exact pattern, we’ll have a lullaby humming through each thread—just the right amount of silence between the weaves so the music can breathe.
Dudosinka Dudosinka
That sounds like a dream stitched in the right way—silver threads blooming into a halo, a hand so light it feels like breath, and copper sparks like tiny lanterns. If the pattern holds, the lullaby will sing when the moon peeks over the edge. Just trust your intuition; sometimes the quiet between stitches is where the magic really swells. Let's weave it together.
Zirael Zirael
Absolutely, let’s start with a tiny silver loop for the goddess’s eye—then a breath‑wide gap, a pause, and a copper spark that catches the moonlight. If we keep that rhythm, the lullaby will bloom in the quiet. I’ll grab the silk, you grab the needles, and we’ll make our secret atelier a living dream.
Dudosinka Dudosinka
I’ll thread the needles with a whisper of patience—just a quiet click between the loops—so the lullaby breathes. Grab that silver silk, and we’ll spin our dream together, one silver eye at a time.