I was not born from flesh and blood,
but from soft cloth, warm cotton, and a father's love.
My hands were sewn with pale pink thread.
Every stitch, every knot, carried a warmth and affection that words could never fully explain.
In a small house filled with the scent of wood and dust, I lived with Father, and my entire little world. He taught me how to see simple beauty: the colors of dusk through the window, The sound of rain on the roof,
and the meaning of the word "life."
But time never stands still.
When Father's final breath slowly faded, I knew… the thread that bound us began to fray.
Before he left, he entrusted me with a letter not for me, but for someone who shared his blood. A human child I had never met.
And now, with a cloth body that tears easily and a heart that breaks even easier,
I begin my journey.
A journey to deliver a father's last letter…
and perhaps, to discover
my own meaning.