Her eyes fell on one of her plain dresses hanging by the corner. The color wasn’t common in the pack… a soft gray-lilac, a tone almost too dull to be pretty, yet unique enough to stand out among the usual browns and blues.
Without hesitation, Lyra grabbed her scissors. She cut a small piece from the dress, just big enough to wrap around the folded parchment. Then, with careful precision, she folded the paper within the fabric square and sealed it shut with a single, discreet needle stitch, the thread matching perfectly so no one would ever notice.
She pressed it flat in her palm, ensuring it looked nothing more than a harmless scrap of cloth. Then she tucked it into her gown’s pocket and left the room.
By the time she reached the courtyard, the seamstress’ table was already surrounded.
