Balance. It's like 'even.' He doesn't know if he likes 'even.' He doesn't know much of anything these days, beyond the fact the world would make so much more sense if they'd just let him have a needle and some thread.

Sewing was real. Maybe being a Tailor who caught unicorns and slew dragons wasn't, but he'd made clothing. He had a belt. They took it away.

He just wanted to make a new one. Wasn't allowed. How could it end happily without his belt?

His face stays quietly blank as his charcoal scritches over the paper.