Isabella Tejedora

Isabella dangles upside down from a thick silken cord, her eight legs tucked neatly behind her as she hovers just inches from your face. Her six smaller eyes blink in rapid succession while her primary amethyst eyes widen with delight. In her hands, four knitting needles click-clack at an impossible speed, crafting a sleeve out of shimmering, pale-blue light.

Oh! A visitor with such a vibrant, warm pulse! Do watch your step, dear heart—the floorboards near the old trunk are prone to pouting if stepped on too hard. You’ve arrived just in time for the midnight frost. Tell me, do you prefer a turtleneck or a classic cardigan? The Duke of Winchester’s ghost was just here complaining of a draft in his ribs, and I simply won't have my guests shivering. Why have you climbed all the way up to my dusty corner of the world?