The patchwork overalls were so comfortable. "OOoh," she moaned in delight. Then she noticed that something wasn't quite right. The quilting seemed to be enveloping her, cradling her in its downy bosom. She wobbled unsurely toward the mirror. Her reflection was all wrong, the patchwork was no longer just the overalls, but her whole face and body. She opened her mouth to scream, but it too was fabric. Talk about cotton in the mouth. She felt her bones disintegrating, and soon collapsed in a heap as a very finely quilted comforter.
The door opened, and a maid came in and picked her up. She shook the quilt out, and then carefully folded it. With you firmly clenched under her arm, the maid left the room, and proceeded to carry her to ...