girl could ask for. You have all made me feel like part of one big, happy family. I also want to take a moment to thank the teachers and professors I had the privilege of studying with during my journey to become an author: thank you for encouraging me to take risks and be creative.
And, of course, thank you to all the fellow writers, readers, booksellers, Goodreads librarians, and bloggers I’ve met in the past two years—virtually or in real life—who’ve done so much to make me feel welcome in the kidlit community. Thanks to you, the future of books and storytelling—our future—is brighter than ever.
My heartfelt thanks (along with big hugs) to Diana Link, Joyce Lin, Eva Liu, Evelyn Lu, and Amaris White—a few of my dearest and oldest friends—for reading my earlier novels, cheering me on throughout the years, and keeping me sane over countless IMs and phone calls while I sought to become a published author, as well as lending your critical eyes and ears (not least, for telling me what it’s really like to ride a camel and climb a mountain with ice picks).
This book would never have happened without the support of my family. Thank you to my po po, for sitting me with her at the sewing machine when I was little as she worked, and telling me all her stories. You are one of the strongest women I know.
To my parents, for teaching me the value of persistence from a young age. To Dad, for sparking in me a love for fairy tales, for being proud of me no matter what I chose to pursue—but wisely advising me to work hard and be the best I could be in those pursuits. Everything I have done is thanks to your wisdom. Mom, whose talent for arts and crafts never ceases to amaze me: thank you for emboldening me to be creative. I wouldn’t be the musician or writer I am today without you.
To my sister, Victoria, for pushing me to make the book more romantic (always, ha-ha!), for being a sounding board whenever I needed an honest opinion, and for giving me design and fashion advice. My life would be far lonelier (and less entertaining) without you.
Most of all, thank you to my husband, love, and best friend, Adrian. Thank you for nourishing me with countless breakfasts and dinners and for reminding me to eat lunch when I was so immersed in editing that I forgot to, for spending hours reading my drafts and giving me the brutal edits (and no-less-valuable encouragement) I needed, for hugging me during the lows and laughing with me during the highs, and for buying me a more comfortable desk chair. You are my inspiration and my joy.
Thank you to our baby, Charlotte, whose infectious smiles and giggles make me anxious to wake up every morning to spend time with you. Already I can’t wait to read and sing and dance—and write with you.
And lastly, thank you, dear reader. For picking up this book and giving it a chance, for following me through the wilds of my imagination, and for (hopefully) making it all the way to the end. Until next time!
I had a mother once.
She taught me to spin the finest yarn and thread, made from silkworms raised in our court of mulberry trees. Patiently, she would soak thousands of cocoons, and together we wound the gossamer threads onto wooden spools. When she saw how nimbly my little fingers worked the wheel, spinning silk like strands of moonlight, she urged my father to take me on as his seamstress.
“Learn well from Baba,” she told me when he agreed. “He is the best tailor in Gangsun, and if you study hard, one day you will be, too.”
“Yes, Mama,” I’d said obediently.
Perhaps if she’d told me then that girls couldn’t become tailors, my story would have turned out differently. But alas.
While Mama raised my brothers—brave Finlei, thoughtful Sendo, and wild Keton—Baba taught me to cut and stitch and embroider. He trained my eyes to see beyond simple lines and shapes, to manipulate shadows and balance beauty with structure. He made me handle every kind of cloth, from coarse cottons to fine silks, to gain mastery over fabrics and feel how they draped over the skin. He made me redo all my stitches if I skipped one, and from my mistakes I learned how a single seam could be the difference between a garment that fit