A long time ago, there was a village. The village had many bakers, writers, dancers, artists, scientists, doctors, and actors. But strangley, the village had only one tailor. But nobody seemed to mind. The tailor, named Wisteria, didn't mind either. She loved experimenting with fabrics and trying them out, using the village people for her models. Of course, they loved every one. What choice did they have?
One day, the tailor seemed to notice that though everyone was wearing her clothes, they didn't seem happy about it or show it off to any forgeiners. This made the tailor sad. She wanted to find the perfect fabric, one that everybody could truley love.

While walking one day, she came across a beautiful swan. She took it to her workshop, feeding it, wondering what to do with it. Then, she had an idea. She grabbed her brothers sword he had left behind and killed the swan. She then used the swans feathers to make a dress. She tried it on a woman from the village. The woman commented on how nice it was, but her eyes seemed so dull when she looked at it. This made Wisteria even more determined to find the right fabric.
She went walking again the next day, accompanied by her mothers pet peacock, Rainbow. She would find birds, kill them, weave them into clothes, and try them on the townspeople. But nothing seemed to please them. Eventually, Wisteria had tried all type of animal in the village. She sighed, and went back home.

" What am I going to do?" she said to Rainbow, " I may never find the perfect fabric. I may never be the most popular tailor. I may never be reconized for weaving clothes and being female. I may never." But then, another thought struck her. She glanced down at Rainbow, the only peacock in the village. Slowly, she raised her brothers sword, and killed the bird. Then, one by one, she plucked off his feathers and made them into a dress. A townsperson tried it on, and true happiness shined in her eyes. "I LOVE IT!" The woman screamed, "It's so beautiful!" Wisteria smiled and went to make more. But her hands couldn't open the door. She tried moving her fingers, but they wouldn't. She tried everything, but her hands remained frozen. She would never spin another wheel again. Never weave the feathers of her mothers dead pet. She was forced to give up her job, and be replaced by a man. She never did become famous. Even the last dress she wove, when worn once more by the woman, turned to dust the moment she touched it.