A lonely old woman sews a daughter for herself from soft cloth, downy feathers, and well worn buttons. It would be blessing if some fae creature or god breathed life into the dear one, wouldn’t it…? -- Deathshead419
You know the stories, don't you? Once upon a time, there was a lonely old... miller, baker, tailor, tinker, dressmaker, toymaker, pick one... who didn't have a spouse or a family as they began to grow old. What happened next changes from tale to tale.
This one is mostly true.
Maranna had never met someone she wanted to share her life with. Her town had never spawned any unwanted children, nor did she find any in the woods, roads, or byways. Even the traveling shows and merchants lacked a little one who would fare better in her arms. The usual avenues to have a child to raise were shut to her, and her home and shop got lonely in the evenings.
Like most women, she used her free hours for home crafts. Blankets, socks, underwear, all those things for the home and personal comfort. Maranna had a lot of scraps and bits and bobs, as most crafters did. There was flock, and down, and little scraps too small to even add to a quilt... as well as scraps that would never match anything else. Some large enough to make one small thing.
One... baby-sized... poppet.
Maranna spread one of those scraps across her table, imagining where she might cut the pieces out. She could do it. She could make a child on her own. Well. Call it a doll, if you would. Though no living child would play with it.
It would weigh the same as a babe, and be the shape of a babe, and she could hold it and dream when it was done.
The weight came from clean sand. Sewn into one brightly-coloured pouch so it might have a bright mind, and in a solid one so that it might have solid health. It was her dream, so she set out to make it a good one. The rest of the stuffing came from soft down and her remaining flock, that the poppet might know softness of love and the colours of the rest of the emotional spectrum. She made the skin out of a fabric that was close enough to her own skin tone.
She sewed it little fingers and little toes. All the intricate parts a true baby might have. And in a red fabric heart Maranna added inside the chest, she stuffed with a lock of her own hair.
Maranna made it bald, since it seemed too far to give it yarn hair, and made an entire layette for it, and set it in a crib made of a basket by her bed. The carefully-embroidered face was much like a soundly-sleeping infant.
It took her a little more than nine months to finish it all. Fitting, since she was half-Elven herself[1]. This little girl of cloth and little bits, she called Darnae. Maranna held her in the evenings, and sang to her as she rocked with her. She even kept her close when she was working, like any parent would with a babe. Checking on her like any parent would. Sometimes, even, waking up in the middle of the night to be sure that Darnae was safe and sound.
Certainly, others thought she was a little mad, but people will think what they will and Maranna paid it no mind.
And then, one day, a miracle...
Greatfather Langeven doesn't just visit children on the night before Midwinterfeast. He also visits the adults who happen to be awake in the middle of the night. The Watchmen, the nurses and doctors. The midwives and parents up with their babies. And on this particular Midwinterfeast, he also came to Maranna.
"What a beautiful baby," he cooed, voice soft and gentle instead of his usual loud and joyous. He was made of and by imagination, so he saw a lot of what others imagined. He knew and could greet children's imaginary friends without any bother at all. So of course he saw Darnae as the baby Maranna treated her as. "May I kiss her brow?"
"Of course," said Maranna.
That night, she got two gifts from Greatfather Langeven. The horn of liquid joy that all adults get... and the living babe she always wanted. Turned to flesh instead of remaining as cloth, fluff, and other things.
Of course she was loved, growing hale and hearty. And always gave extra thanks to Greatfather Langeven on the eve of Midwinterfeast.
[1] Human gestation is nine months. Elves take twice as long. Half-Elves can take anywhere between the two extremes.
[Photo by Elsa Lilja on Unsplash]
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