The night was split by a scream—not of fear, but of color. In a market square draped with lanterns, I saw fabrics dyed in hues that seemed to defy the ordinary: a neon green so sharp it cut through the mist, a purple as deep as midnight, and shadows like ink swirling in between. The locals said the shades came from a festival where voices were raised to chase away spirits. I carried the vision home, turning the scream into yarn. Each stitch now holds the echo of that night—wild, defiant, and unforgettable.