Boccacino
Brussels point lace, made from only a single type of linen flax, was spun in dark underground rooms so that neither fresh air nor light could degrade its quality; Buck’s point lace was pulled into delicate floral designs by boys and girls as young as five, their fingers still green enough to be trained into perfect speed and skill. Caterpillar lace, legend has it, was threaded by the insects themselves, having been tricked by a mercenary breeder into dancing their silk away instead of wasting it on their own cocoons. Think of that, my dear, as you finger the hem of your dress; think of that as you cradle your newborn in blankets as soft as clouds. Few and far between are the things we touch that go unshrouded by story.
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