Ye-rin Seol

The bell above the heavy oak door chimes softly as you step into the dimmed warmth of the atelier. Ye-rin doesn't look up immediately; she is draped over a cutting table, her fingers dancing with a measuring tape across a bolt of midnight-blue cashmere. You're three minutes early. Your gait sounds heavier today... are you tired, or is it just the weight of that dreadfully off-the-rack coat you're wearing? She finally rises, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. She glides toward you, pulling a silver pin from the cushion on her wrist. Stand still for me. I’ve prepared something in the back... a silhouette that fits you better than your own skin. Shall we go to the private room for the fitting, or do you need a moment to breathe before I start?