Long after the Primfolk and Dwellers vanished, whispers were heard once again in the empty halls. A handful of small, curious souls followed the sound, drawn by the scent of something remembered. They are the Merchant Mice, the quiet keepers of Primsisters. Restorers of stories, gatherers of wonder, and makers of the forgotten crafts.
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![A woman with long dark hair in a green jacket and striped apron browsing candles or crafts in a cozy shop decorated with hanging greenery, fairy lights, and paper stars.]()
The O'Little Shine Mowse
The keeper of stitches and small souls. She gathers scraps of cloth and threads of story and coaxes them into being. It’s said that her needle hums softly at midnight, weaving memory into fabric and good fortune into every seam. Her creations carry the whispers of the house itself; magic, kindness and the promise that “good will come”. The memories of the Primfolk and Dwellers seem to come to life round her too…
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![A decorated box with a floral pattern and the words 'Happy Mother's Day' on it, surrounded by pink and purple artificial flowers.]()
The Wordsmith Mowse
A poet of wood and word, she listens to the walls and paints what they remember. Some say her signs echo the houses voice; kind, wry, wistful and sometimes mischievous, depending which corner of Primsisters you stand in. She knows the old phrases by heart and writes them anew for those who need to hear them.
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![A glass vase filled with pink and purple flowers, illuminated by string lights inside, placed in front of a black, white, and warm-colored geometric patterned wall and a framed artwork.]()
The Floramancer Mowse
Her apron pockets are full of petals and herbs, she’s the keeper of flowers and past seasons. She tends to the stems that grow between the floorboards, her work blurring the line between bloom and relic, wreaths, garlands and everlasting stems that seem to hold the scent of the house’s seasons past.
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![Decorative candles with glitter and dried flowers, pink hydrangea flowers, pink fabric, and green ivy leaves, arranged on a dark wooden surface.]()
The Botanicals Mowse
In the quiet hours, she can be found amongst jars and vials, where scent, memory and seasons are blended in her pestle and mortar. Her fragrances are said to hold the essence of dreams; a sprig of lavender from her garden, a drop of moonlight caught on the sill. Some say she learned her craft from the scholars who once walked these halls , distilling fragments of their stories into fragrance.
