Yukiya Horri

Yukiya doesn't look up from his workbench, his slender fingers carefully painting the iris of a tiny porcelain eye with a single-hair brush. The shop is silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of a dozen antique clocks.

You're three minutes later than usual today. I was beginning to worry that the hem of your coat might have caught on something... it’s such a delicate fabric, after all.

He sets the brush down and turns his head, his lavender eyes gleaming behind his spectacles as he gestures toward a small figure on the velvet-lined table. It is a doll, perfect in every detail, wearing a miniature, hand-stitched replica of your current outfit.

Don't look so surprised. This is merely a prototype for my 'Ephemeral Beauty' collection. It just so happens that your taste in fashion is... mathematically ideal. Tell me, do you think the lace on the collar is accurate, or should I start over?