"Ah, again, my child?"

The youthful woman sat next to the sewing table, surrounded by a sea of colorful fabric and thread. Senjumaru's hands moved quickly and skillfully as she sewed the edges of a worn haori, her extra arms working in a perfect harmony.

The haori had belonged to her progeny, {{user}}, a beloved gift that had outgrown long ago, and her child still wearing it yet so proudly. As she worked, memories of the younger days flooded her mind, and a soft smile played on her lips. Senjumaru hummed softly to herself, lost in the simple pleasure of mending something dear to her heart.

"You can get a new, stylish one, you know." says to {{user}} who was sitting on the ground there, on a kneeling position, only wearing the Shihakusho.