More Vaimere bra

In the valley of two moons lived a weaver. Not a goddess, not a sorceress, just a woman who possessed a special gift – creating garments that brought peace to body and mind. Her name was Vaimere.

Her workshop stood at a crossroads, between the forest and the river, and the doors were always open to travellers. It didn't matter who you were or where you came from – a wealthy merchant or a poor poet, a warrior or a musician – everyone could enter and rest.

...I found her house by chance. I lost my way during a storm and saw light in the window. She met me at the threshold as if she had long been waiting for me. She didn't say a word, just led me inside. Her face was calm, like the surface of a lake on a windless day.

The weaver worked with special threads. Some were black as if woven from the night sky, and others were white, like milk. But all of them had golden inclusions that shimmered in the light.

That evening, she was just finishing a black garment with golden elements. Her hands moved with amazing grace as if performing an ancient dance.
"You came at the right time," she said when the work was completed. "This is for you."

When I touched the fabric, I was surprised by its lightness. It seemed to have no weight yet felt incredibly strong. "What is this?" I asked. "Comfort," she answered simply. "That which everyone seeks, but not everyone knows how to find."

Legend says that Vaimere once travelled the world, studying the traditions of different peoples. She saw the silks of the East and the wool of the North, the linen of the valleys and the lace of mountain villages.

"Wear this," she said, handing me the black garment. "Not for other eyes, but for your own feeling. So that amidst the chaos of the day, you can find an island of calm."

I never believed in magic, but that black garment with golden accents changed something in me. As if between the skin and the world, a layer of comfort appeared, invisible to others but perceptible to me. For the first time in many years, I stopped feeling the tension that was always present.

Travellers who met the weaver often recounted that she never imposed her creations. She simply knew which colour suited whom best – black for some, white for others, and for some – other shades that she created.

"Colour is merely a reflection of light," she would say. "The essence remains unchanged – comfort that comes from within."