Anything in astericks is supposed to be italics.
The Weaver
Chapter Two~Weaving
Learning to weave was not difficult, or at least not as difficult as I had expected. It came to me naturally, just as Mother had the natural gift for it. After I finished spinning, I sat at the loom. Closing my eyes for a few moments, I rested against the loom, breathing in the scent. Then, I sat back and took in deep breaths. After six years of watching my mother weave, I had nearly memorized her movements.
Knowing what the movements looked like and actually doing them were two different matters. My first attempt at weaving turned into a ball of knots. Staring at it for the longest time, I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. I copied Mother's moves exactly! Father saw the mess and held in his breath. I waited for him to yell at me or encourage me, but Father said nothing, as usual.
Soon, Father did nearly all of Mother's chores as well as mine, for I could not think of anything else but my weavings. Nothing else in the world would bring me any joy. Hardly venturing outdoors, my skin turned even paler until I was ivory-white.
Still, even for me, weaving took me weeks to learn. I tested and tried new techniques on the loom, and I slowed my pace to discover what I had done wrong. Neighbors pitied me and offered their help. Some showed me a little of how to weave, others attempted to correct my mistakes. I could not understand what any of them were saying. Their weaving techniques did not make any sense to me. Finally, exasperated, I created my own style.
Painstakingly slowly, I moved the thread over the loom. This way, I would not make any mistakes. For my first attempt, I tried a simple blanket. All in one color, there was no way I could fail. Finally, after an entire week of slow progress, I finished my first blanket.
My father stared at it a long while and felt the fabric. It was completely smooth, but not quite soft, for I was still not very good at spinning. Again, Father said nothing. Simpling nodding, he turned and placed the folded blanket onto a shelf to sell at the next market day.
After my first weaving, I turned my attention back to spinning. To have soft weavings, I would need perfect threads. For the next few weeks, I concentrated only on spinning. This time, I begged the neighbors for their help. Mother had only taught me the simplest things about spinning. I listened to everyone's advice and I worked feverishly at the spinning wheel. After nearly a month, my threads were as good as any of our neighbors.
That night, I thanked the gods, especially the Goddess Athene.
"Thank you for giving me the wisdom and talent to learn to weave so quickly," I whispered to the stars. I said the longest prayer of my life and sat staring long after I should have been asleep. Under the beautiful full moon, I felt truly blessed.
Next, I tried colors. Closing my eyes, I let my hands move on their own. I tried not to think about what I was doing, but lost myself in the feeling. The threads felt wonderously soft under my fingers. I only opened my eyes to change colors. When I finally opened my eyes, I could not believe myself. There, in front of me, was a woven cloak, a cloak *I* had woven. The scene was just as I had imagined it inside my head--the nighttime sky, just like that perfect evening when I had thanked the gods. The sky was black and the darkest blue, with white stars that truly shone in comparison. I had woven the threads so tightly that there were no spaces between threads. Gazing upon my work, I almost fooled myself into believing that it *was* the sky.
Father grinned when he saw the cloak, his teeth large and yellow like a horse. The next day, he came back from market with three gold coins...from my cloak alone. I smiled as I saw him sit happily near the fire, dreaming of what to buy with the money. He turned to look at me and grinned again.
"From this day forward, you shall do nothing else but weave and spin! *I* shall carry on all of the chores!" he declared.
I gasped and the words flew from my lips before I could think.
"Then you won't be able to dye!" I protested. Quickly, I covered my mouth. A daughter is not supposed to speak unless asked! I bowed my head.
He smiled with warmness, that never reached his eyes. At eight years old, I already saw the greed growing in him. All our lives we lived the poor, simple life of commoners. Father envied the rich; who didn't? I didn't. All I cared about now was weaving. Weaving was the only reason I had left to live, and then only for Mother's sake. Father wanted more than that, though.
"You are our hope, Arachne! For your first cloak, you fetched us three gold pieces! Imagine what you can do with more time and experience! Weave our future, Arachne. Let us live like the rich and leave this rotting life!" he cried.
I nodded timidly. If that would make Father happy, then fine. If we grew rich he would leave me alone to weave.
After that first cloak, I had all the time in the world to weave. I wove like I had never woven before.
Years passed quickly for me, but I never stopped weaving. My products always improved, to the point that I could weave cloaks so light you could not feel them about your shoulders, tapetries with pictures so realistic that butterflies flew through the windows to land on my flowers, or so customers told me.
Father was happier than ever, for we had bought a new house on a hill not far away from Lydia, rich and luxurious. We had marble baths, huge bedrooms, and the dining hall was fit for a king. Our gardens had rare flowers from Africa and Italy. My bedroom window overlooked out garden. I sat at my velvet window seat, dressed in clothes I had woven myself, for none could do better. Maids twisted and braided my hair, adorning me with huge jewels. They would not let me go until they were finished. As soon as the last strand was set in place, I shooed them away. I needed to weave in silence.
I drew inspirations from the world around me. My loom was next to the window so that I could look at nature and capture its beauty. The scenes of my weavings always held happiness and love, emotions that I had not felt since Mother died, feelings only weaving could give me.
When I was fifteen, I had already weaved gowns for queens and tapestries for kings. Suitors from all over Greece asked for my hand in marriage. All had heard of my glorious weavings until the point that some compared me to the Goddess Athene. It was not until too late that I realized the danger.
The Weaver
Chapter Two~Weaving
Learning to weave was not difficult, or at least not as difficult as I had expected. It came to me naturally, just as Mother had the natural gift for it. After I finished spinning, I sat at the loom. Closing my eyes for a few moments, I rested against the loom, breathing in the scent. Then, I sat back and took in deep breaths. After six years of watching my mother weave, I had nearly memorized her movements.
Knowing what the movements looked like and actually doing them were two different matters. My first attempt at weaving turned into a ball of knots. Staring at it for the longest time, I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. I copied Mother's moves exactly! Father saw the mess and held in his breath. I waited for him to yell at me or encourage me, but Father said nothing, as usual.
Soon, Father did nearly all of Mother's chores as well as mine, for I could not think of anything else but my weavings. Nothing else in the world would bring me any joy. Hardly venturing outdoors, my skin turned even paler until I was ivory-white.
Still, even for me, weaving took me weeks to learn. I tested and tried new techniques on the loom, and I slowed my pace to discover what I had done wrong. Neighbors pitied me and offered their help. Some showed me a little of how to weave, others attempted to correct my mistakes. I could not understand what any of them were saying. Their weaving techniques did not make any sense to me. Finally, exasperated, I created my own style.
Painstakingly slowly, I moved the thread over the loom. This way, I would not make any mistakes. For my first attempt, I tried a simple blanket. All in one color, there was no way I could fail. Finally, after an entire week of slow progress, I finished my first blanket.
My father stared at it a long while and felt the fabric. It was completely smooth, but not quite soft, for I was still not very good at spinning. Again, Father said nothing. Simpling nodding, he turned and placed the folded blanket onto a shelf to sell at the next market day.
After my first weaving, I turned my attention back to spinning. To have soft weavings, I would need perfect threads. For the next few weeks, I concentrated only on spinning. This time, I begged the neighbors for their help. Mother had only taught me the simplest things about spinning. I listened to everyone's advice and I worked feverishly at the spinning wheel. After nearly a month, my threads were as good as any of our neighbors.
That night, I thanked the gods, especially the Goddess Athene.
"Thank you for giving me the wisdom and talent to learn to weave so quickly," I whispered to the stars. I said the longest prayer of my life and sat staring long after I should have been asleep. Under the beautiful full moon, I felt truly blessed.
Next, I tried colors. Closing my eyes, I let my hands move on their own. I tried not to think about what I was doing, but lost myself in the feeling. The threads felt wonderously soft under my fingers. I only opened my eyes to change colors. When I finally opened my eyes, I could not believe myself. There, in front of me, was a woven cloak, a cloak *I* had woven. The scene was just as I had imagined it inside my head--the nighttime sky, just like that perfect evening when I had thanked the gods. The sky was black and the darkest blue, with white stars that truly shone in comparison. I had woven the threads so tightly that there were no spaces between threads. Gazing upon my work, I almost fooled myself into believing that it *was* the sky.
Father grinned when he saw the cloak, his teeth large and yellow like a horse. The next day, he came back from market with three gold coins...from my cloak alone. I smiled as I saw him sit happily near the fire, dreaming of what to buy with the money. He turned to look at me and grinned again.
"From this day forward, you shall do nothing else but weave and spin! *I* shall carry on all of the chores!" he declared.
I gasped and the words flew from my lips before I could think.
"Then you won't be able to dye!" I protested. Quickly, I covered my mouth. A daughter is not supposed to speak unless asked! I bowed my head.
He smiled with warmness, that never reached his eyes. At eight years old, I already saw the greed growing in him. All our lives we lived the poor, simple life of commoners. Father envied the rich; who didn't? I didn't. All I cared about now was weaving. Weaving was the only reason I had left to live, and then only for Mother's sake. Father wanted more than that, though.
"You are our hope, Arachne! For your first cloak, you fetched us three gold pieces! Imagine what you can do with more time and experience! Weave our future, Arachne. Let us live like the rich and leave this rotting life!" he cried.
I nodded timidly. If that would make Father happy, then fine. If we grew rich he would leave me alone to weave.
After that first cloak, I had all the time in the world to weave. I wove like I had never woven before.
Years passed quickly for me, but I never stopped weaving. My products always improved, to the point that I could weave cloaks so light you could not feel them about your shoulders, tapetries with pictures so realistic that butterflies flew through the windows to land on my flowers, or so customers told me.
Father was happier than ever, for we had bought a new house on a hill not far away from Lydia, rich and luxurious. We had marble baths, huge bedrooms, and the dining hall was fit for a king. Our gardens had rare flowers from Africa and Italy. My bedroom window overlooked out garden. I sat at my velvet window seat, dressed in clothes I had woven myself, for none could do better. Maids twisted and braided my hair, adorning me with huge jewels. They would not let me go until they were finished. As soon as the last strand was set in place, I shooed them away. I needed to weave in silence.
I drew inspirations from the world around me. My loom was next to the window so that I could look at nature and capture its beauty. The scenes of my weavings always held happiness and love, emotions that I had not felt since Mother died, feelings only weaving could give me.
When I was fifteen, I had already weaved gowns for queens and tapestries for kings. Suitors from all over Greece asked for my hand in marriage. All had heard of my glorious weavings until the point that some compared me to the Goddess Athene. It was not until too late that I realized the danger.