Martin has been quietly hoarding fabric scraps. Not huge pieces—just little bits here and there. A corner of ribbon. A scrap of felt. Something that used to be a sock. They’re all stacked (well, stuffed) into a wobbly pile on his shelf, and the collection keeps growing. Not enough to raise alarms… but definitely enough to raise eyebrows.

I haven’t asked him yet. Partly because I’m curious what he’ll do next, and partly because I think he doesn’t know exactly what he’s planning—only that it’s important. Where is he even finding all of these? Why does he keep patting them like they’re treasures? And what, in all that is green and dragon-scaled, does he expect me to do when he inevitably says, “Okay, I’m ready—can you help me sew?” Stay tuned. I have a feeling this is the beginning of something delightfully chaotic.