(Excerpt from a much longer work of fiction)
Finding my way by the feeble light of the dying fire, I saw her working. A large needle moved in her hand, following precise, esoteric patterns; knots and loops of seamstress-craft from ancient days. Beneath her needle, his body clenched and shuddered, shaking the wooden table.
A morbid fascination pushed me closer, until she turned her blank face toward me, resting the needle in his flesh. With a refined tone, she addressed me, "So you are the lover, I presume. You too have been unfaithful, and it is now your turn to be mended."