Stitches
SUMMON! He calls us, our master who made us. As we ran to his aid, we saw the town. All was chaos, each stitch and knot, none was left. White bits of fluff surrounded our master like the dust from the Cotton Deserts. I would climb thy Needle of Life and seek his shadow. We shall swim in the red river which flowed from his own fabric. Once we reached him he had gone immobile like the others without his sewing. How did it happen, we thought, how? Shall we ever find the other who helped him create our being, our patterns, and our lives. I would look up to see the attacker, our once great master's killer. She was there, on the red rock of magic lances. Her crimson top mixed with a slightly blue tip. "Hide," our leader would say, "hide! The Crimson one's lord is entering!" We would duck and shake as they entered our master's domain. They would laugh at his immobile body, like he was a miss-stitched plushie. I would grow red with anger and yell, only to my own horror as they bent down to pick me up. I've found it, they would say, I found his treasure. They would take me away, whispering what they'd do to me after they got the treasure. Me, I would think, how could I be a treasure? They would hold me down as they used a small Cutter to open my torso. There, they said, there. They would rip a red orb out, and I would shake. They laugh evilly and whisper something in my ear, "Your heart is worth a ruby to his." With that I would see the cutters near my neck and- SNIP.
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