Millie learned how to sew young. It was “easier” because she had smaller hands than her brothers.
She just liked the normalcy of it.
She would fix holes in their clothes, and even in the sheets on their beds if they were in a run down motel for too long.
Her love of fixing things only deepened when her father started having her stitch up his cuts, even as she watched him down the entire bottle of alcohol. She yearned to heal the pain the loss of her mother had inflicted. In another life, maybe she would have been a nurse.
When she was 10, she saw a magazine about embroidery, and learned everything she could about it. Dean got her some supplies. She started patching holes in her brother’s clothes with embroidery, sometimes they were flowers, and trees.
Other times, especially as she got older, they were protection sigils.
At 16, she stopped mending clothes, she was hunting with J*hn every other month, and it became more of a chore. She’d be sewing up her own wounds, or her brothers’ wounds. She didn’t need to be doing anymore. (Besides, between her and Dean’s odd jobs and the credit card scams, they could handle buying new stuff when they needed to.) She hasn’t touched a needle except to sew up a wound in years, but she yearns for a creative outlet, something, anything to ease her pain, but she’s burnt out and has no energy for it.
