Penny stood before the pedestal, the mask in one hand and the red silk in the other. There were no prompts, no tooltips, no glowing indicators to guide her. Just the silence of the grand hall and the whispering pull of possibility.
She glanced around once more, taking in the sheer scale of the room. This wasn't a place for fighters or adventurers. It was for artists. For makers. And in this moment, the only tool she had was herself.
"I guess this is the part where I start designing," she murmured.
The mask was blank, perfectly smooth, and yet somehow it felt like it was watching her. Or maybe it was waiting for her to choose.
Slowly, Penny raised the silk and began to experiment. She draped it over the mask, and the fabric shifted, flowing into shapes and colors under her touch. Her fingers moved with instinct born from years of crafting and creating. She wrapped, folded, pinched, and tied, and the red silk responded like it was alive.
