The Weaver resides far beyond the realms we know. Her dress is made of an infinite amount of thread, each holding a thousand galaxies within it. She cares for each thread, spinning it and watching it slowly fall and eventually trail off her long skirt. To her, it’s just seconds - to us, a million lifetimes. Some threads join the branches of the old trees; others fade until they are forgotten... some are even spun again.
Whatever happens to the threads, The Weaver cannot stop. If she does, there would be no beginning and end; only stillness and silence - undeserving of such a delicate gown.