Um, this just came out of nowhere ^ ^
A blanket -made of wool, cotton or silk- is the provider of warmth. Ultimate warmth. It also bought comfort and content to a level of which no other inanimate object could. At least this was what Cassandra thought.
She believed this from a child, as her mother used to wrap her in a blanket to comfort her when she was hurt. To warm her in the cold and to bring content when she was stressed. So from a young age, she aspired to learn to knit, so she could make her future children a blanket of ultimate warmth, comfort and content.
The years passed, and this thought, this belief became opaque to her, almost translucent. She still understood the innocence of it, but decided it was childs play and let herself get lost in the life of a teen.
The life of a teen bought her nuisance and a teenage pregnancy. It also bought foolishness, and over confidence. So she kept her baby.
Contrary to the thoughts of her peers and elders, this baby humbled her. And she was a good mother. She comforted it with a blanket.
Her childhood aspiration of knitting a blanket of ultimate comfort, warmth and content returned as solid as ever. So in her spare time from mothering her child, she would knit, and reminisce on her childhood. How simple it was. How lovely.
Although she was skilled in knitting, she was slow. So it took several months before she was halfway through this blanket. This symbol of childhood innocence.
And at the half way mark of the production of the blanket, she fell gravely ill. Her mother looked after the baby and she was free to rest and knit.
The illness made Cassandra week, and she was slower than ever at her knitting. It was almost finished. So close, yet so far away, as she knitted stitch by stitch until all energy was drained from her, allowing her to rest.
The baby grew before Cassandra’s eyes. And although she was not as ill as before, it left her weak and uncapable of finishing this blanket. The blanket of ultimate warmth, comfort and content.
More years passed and her fixation on the completion of this blanket overtook her and she spent more time with her fixation than actually trying to complete this blanket. For not only would it have been completed, but it was nearly three metres long.
After being so intent on this blanket, the day came when she decided it was finished. But this was also the last day of her life. The fixation bought no warmth, comfort or content.
So the child of Cassandra was left with a blanket that did not provide any warmth, comfort or content and Cassandra died unsatisfied with her life.
