Inspired by Sycorax

Find me a good pair of socks. The indestructible jug-heads of garments, hand knit out of angora cat fur, humanly harvested. I want socks that can withstand the muddy-fungi-abounding days of spring, the rough-rocky-stove-top sidewalks of summer, the uncertainty of autumn, the blustering violence of a freeze thaw cycle mid-December. They must be 1 cm thick. They must be red as poppies.
Now close your eyes and imagine an alternate universe. It is a shallow world, barely a foot deep, three feet tall, four feet wide. Pencils write by themselves. Pictures change colour based on age and mood. Piranhas are pariahs. Pill bugs procreate at private poker parties. And we are all but featureless sock puppets. Penny for you thoughts? A penny will go a lot farther in the general state of this dimension's economy.

Sycorax is a pair of knee-high stockings. Striped bright butter and pastel yellow, perfectly intact, cheerful as daisies. They are enchanting, flattering, grass stained. Tall, tall, tall for long legs.

Lupus embodies a teal pair of hand-knit wispy woolies. Good for licorice tea, and linoleum skating.

Goat wears sandals, like a messiah of the desert-lands. If it is REALLY cold, a pair of grizzled gray socks magically appears under them.

Pokémaster is a SOCK MONKEY.

Falco, the socks you are are green, paper thin, and have glow in the dark lizards on them. You illuminate the world WITH SCIENCE.

Paper Crane, you are a rare pair knit out of the moss fibers that grow on the backs of slothes in the amazonian rain-forest. Wow, that's cool, and you smell like heavy spring rain.

Dude you're gay... I'm certain you're the netted stockings that are modeled by a certain sweet transvestite...

nomes in hush puppy heel socks. Navy blue, tiny, dotted with stars. Bells on the toes, add tintinnabulation a gypsy dance.

Tanasha Hryvnya manifests a foundation lumberjack sock. Super stylish, plaid, hidden under

those steel toed troopers.