The Embroiderer and the Entomologist

How different yet similar two people can be. Two sides of a penny, heads, and tails.

The Embroiderer sews life into material with a large needle, producing tapestries of great fiction. The Entomologist, pins death to a board with delicate spindles, producing specimens of the real world. One counts stitches, while the other meticulously counts legs and antenna. They are obsessive, artistic, and scientific.

Would they be enemies? Friends? Lovers? Or so removed from one another that they would never meet?

As a romantic, I rather like the thought of them becoming lovers.

They are both detail focussed, quiet, and keen-eyed. As such, they would share a lot of common ground. They could even live and create in the same house. Though, it would have to be at opposite ends of course. No sane embroiderer would let any entomology chemicals near their work. Alone but happily so. They are protective of their work and prefer to keep it to themselves until they are ready to share.

Naturally, the Embroiderer would work in darkness to keep their fabric untouched by the sun. The Entomologist would work under a bulb to keep their eyes focused. The creative spaces they would make would be entirely their own.

I think they would find beautiful quiet moments as they pass through the house collecting thread and boxes. They would spot each other excitedly and trot over. They would quickly talk together, checking in with their company and making sure they were content. The Embroiderer would gush about a new thread or complain about a hand cramp. The Entomologist would sigh in sympathy, being no stranger to a hand cramp. They would try and cheer each other up if they were having a hard day and things weren’t as perfect as either of them wanted.

They would hold each other’s pinpricked hands and steal kisses in the dark, their eyes finding refuge behind lids for the first time in hours. Their love would be maintained with the same care as their vocations. Together they would pin into place the things that worked and unpick the stitches of anything that didn’t. There was nothing they could not re-adjust or fix.

Each would say goodbye only to spring back together, not ready to part just yet.

“Remember you wear your glasses, you will give yourself a headache if you do not,” the Embroider would tell the Entomologists, lips inches away from them. They would have three pairs of their own glasses hanging around their neck, each with varying magnification.

“Only if you remember to stretch your hands, love,” the Entomologist would reply fondly, leaning into the kiss.

Then, they would return to their calm corners and work. Like a forked river, they would flow alongside one another in separate channels. Just like a flowing river, they would give life to new creations and take life just as swiftly. Though, as with nature, no living thing would be wasted.

At the end of their lives, their children will possess, perhaps, a cupboard or two of dead insects and a small, dusty, wall hanging. No gold, no savings, and no riches. Just the art their parents toiled over for so many hours. Perhaps they would understand it. Perhaps they wouldn’t.

But in their suspended life, the Embroiderer and the Entomologists understand each other completely. How happy they would be.

A/N: This is a rambling idea that came to me at 3 am. I like the idea of this story becoming the readers' own. How do you imagine it? What gender are the characters? What era do they live in? What's thier proudest work?

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