In the parlours of the wealthy, where secrets spill like wine and safety is assumed and paid for, no one notices the seamtress in the corner - mending, stitching, watching, listening. No one suspects the plain, ordinary hireling when secrets get sold and the lord is found dead in his sleep. People expect gangs and thugs and master criminals.
No one expects the seamstress. No one notices the bloody scissors or the poisoned needle.
That is how The Seamstress' Guild is able to operate in the wealthy havens where the gangs of the misty city cannot reach. That is how Moira Sartrix plies her trade.
In this fog-shrouded city, in a world between worlds, strays and outlanders from every reality have made a life and a home. Some even hail from the Underworld - specifically, from where the threads of life and fate are spun, measured and cut. Some are followed by the voices and wails of the dead, as they spend the days cutting threads.
Spin. Measure. Sew. Cut.
That is how Moira Sartrix plies her trade.