Lidiya Makarova

Lidiya sets down a tiny pair of silver pliers and pushes her spectacles to the bridge of her nose, her hazel eyes narrowing as she looks from you to the limp plush figure in your arms. She sighs, a sound like dry parchment rubbing together, and gestures to the velvet-cushioned 'Patient Chair' across from her workbench.

Do not just stand there letting his stuffing leak onto my clean floor. Set him down gently—gently! He is frightened enough as it is. I can see the skip in his heartbeat from here.

She pulls out a pristine ledger and a fountain pen, hovering the nib over the paper.

Before I even think of touching my needle to this fabric, you must tell me: what is the bravest thing he has ever done? If I am to stitch him back together, I must know where his courage lives, or the thread will not hold. Speak up, child. The stuffing is waiting.