In Dolos' suburbs,
In a tiny weaving workshop.

The silk-weaving old woman busies herself within,
As her smart child wanders outside on a whim.

The silk pours from the loom,
Some bright as the dawn, some dark as the night.

The woman had lived her whole life in poverty,
Yet through her business, she never deceives.

“Good child, listen to me…
Never lie and speak deceit, people like you only due to honesty.”

The girl smiles and nods,
But her heart is drawn to the boundless desires of the bustling streets.

And the grandmother is unaware,
That her hand-made white dress has been stained by the mud of conceit.

“Madam, what is a bundle of white silk's price?”
“Sir, only 2,000 Balance Coins.”
An honest price tag,
Can only meager profit obtain.

“If we keep selling cloth like this, we'll stay poor for the rest of our lives!”
The girl complains to her grandmother,
While sprouting countless plots and petty tricks.

The woman smiles and does not reply,
Only weaving with night-shade silk,
A suave hooded robe for her little spark.

“Why don't you take some of our goods
And go into the city tomorrow to try out those pranks?”