As the last thread of love dissolved into the crystal, she felt light. Not empty— free . The coat materialized, beautiful and terrible.

But the Designer was jealous. It did not give; it traded.

That night, alone, Elara looked into the Designer's reflective surface. She saw a woman of thirty who felt a hundred. She had sold the smell of rain, the feeling of a first kiss, the name of her childhood pet.

The Prince took the robe, his eyes already blank where his mother used to live. He thanked Elara politely, like a stranger.

Without the memory of heartbreak, she had no reason to stop. She would weave forever now, a marvelous ghost in a floating atelier, selling sunsets for secrets she could no longer remember she had lost.

The Prince went pale. His fondest memory was building a paper boat with his dying mother.

It is your future.

He agreed.