See!

         Vera wove. Every stitch was neat and well placed, and her cloth was tight, sturdy, soft, and light. All the town thought that she made her thread from clouds, dyed it with the most glorious of sunrises, and sang magic into the weft. And her fabrics were, indeed, unsurpassable. Of course, such skill oft leads to jealousy, and the greatest envy-witch was a woman, Karan. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many compliments she received, Vera's cloth outshone hers. No, Karan could NOT stand to be merely second-best. So she got up early one dawn, so early even hardworking Vera had not woken, and paid a visit to the spiritess Shisiti.
         Now, there were no altars or temples to spirits, spiritesses, or angels. One just needed to reach out for them, to think, to meditate. And that was what Karan did. Shisiti, the land lover, was so impressed that Karan came so early. So she said yes, and provided the woman with a ball of tremble-magic, and before Shisiti could change her mind, Karan hurried off with it. Softly, she crept to Vera’s window, and oh thanks to Shisiti! Vera’s washbasin was full, but no weaving-girl was washing her face there. So, very secretly, that envious one tossed the tremble-magic into the basin. Plish! Then she tiptoed away, oh so quiet!
         When Vera awoke and washed and started to weave, she noticed that her visage was twitching and her hands were shaking. Of course, clever Vera knew at once that it was tremble-magic, so, with steadier fingers than ever she had, she wove a lovely shimmering cloth, like a dying rainbow.          When Karan came past the girl’s window, she smiled nastily, and peeked in. But oh! Instead of a weeping Vera trying to make sense of a tangled loom, she saw her sitting and weaving that shimmering cloth, though her hands were as if twin jackrabbits’ spirits had possessed them. Quietly, secretly, Karan sneaked away. But, ah! her very soul was howling and beating vainly at this girl, this girl she could not affect. Ai! But when the woman’s mind calmed, it was to resume riling against Vera, and thinking up mean and satisfying revenges.
         So the day after the next, Karan tiptoed to Vera’s window while the latter was out weeding a sick neighbor’s small plot, and Ah! grabbed the girl’s box of threads and fabrics. Smiling in a satisfied manner, that jealous woman flung it into the Retsmah River, Plash! and hastened back to her home.
         When Vera started to weave her cloth, she quickly ran out of thread. And naturally, when she reached for her thread-box, it was not there. She was unruffled. She merely put aside her loom and took out a drop spindle and some dyed fluffy stuffs, and started spinning instead. Most people in Drendell could not spin smooth thread with a drop spindle, but Vera could. With a few swift, measured twirls, the thread was ready for soaping-but this thread did not stray. It stayed. So again, she got out her loom and started weaving, weaving a deep, velvety-blue cloth with pricks of shining white here-and-there, just like the best kind of night sky. This time, when Karan peeked into the room, she near choked, but kept the wild rage inside her. One breath, two breaths, and the envy-witch started thinking up a new revenge. Ai! Ai! Surely Karan would have something terrible in store now!
         next morning, the woman thought to the Wicked Ones, angels, spirits, and spiritesses that had gone like stale bread, or sour milk. “Please!” Karan cried. “Take this unbearable girl, Vera Azudil, from this earth! I know you can!” But some of the Wicked Ones replied, “God will overcome us.” Yet the Most Wicked shouted in glee, agreeing instantly. Ah! Poor innocent Vera!
         That day, a great sandstorm of black sands rose and whipped through Drendell. Orange-tinted winds rushed in and out of buildings, and evil-looking shadows searched the chaos for Vera. Vera, so clever and truthful, so innocuous and skillful. They, the Wicked Ones, abhorred her also, for many times they had tried to lead her astray, yet she saw straight through their plans, and saved herself. And now they’d get her!
         The Wicked Ones raced about elatedly until one of them found her and poisoned her with the magic of the demons. Slowly, slowly, Vera flickered and started to fade into a world imaginations away. Karan was really not as evil as that, and she was horrified.
         “Don’t! Don’t leave!” she pleaded. “I’m sorry. Please!” Vera shuddered and said, barely audibly,
         “I can’t help it, Karan. Perhaps I will be able to visit Drendell in a reincarnation, or maybe my spiritess will come. I don't know why this happened, I can’t stop the leaving.” And, with a terrible joyless song, Vera finished dissolving away. Karan was desperate.
         “Oh! God,” she called, remorseful tears falling, “God, please conquer the Wicked Ones, and bring Vera back! I’m sorry! I really am! Please! Please do!” The orange winds had started retreating, and the black sand had started to settle, but suddenly, Oh! a bright light washed over the whole of Drendell. So brilliant it was, every person covered their eyes, shouting. Noises and cries shook the place, as a battle would be, when Ah! all of a sudden, the noise stopped, and the light slowly grew fainter. Soon, the people of Drendell could uncover their faces, and in Vera’s little village, Oh! what a surprise! Karan and Llensa found Vera, all wrapped up in a purely white, clean, shining cloth, lying besides her loom.
         All rejoiced when she lifted her eyelids again, for after all she was well-liked by the townspeople. But the cloth! The people of Drendell chattered and stared, but none could remember when Vera ever wove such a cloth. Most doubted if she even wove it, it was so beautiful. Ah! It was so fine, they felt that Angels had wrapped heavenly fabric around Vera to protect her from the Wicked Ones.