Wove a cloaka and mask

She fingered the strip of black cloth that had molded itself to her face — a basic piece of magic that had required the effort of seconds — in a crude approximation of a cliche domino mask. Eyeholes had been expertly woven into it with a skill and precision that was utterly inhuman, although it was still something simple and uncomplicated. It was little more than a bandana, even if it was an exceedingly elegant one.

When you had Arachne, the seamstress who had outdone the Goddess of Weaving, that was only natural. Her Noble Phantasm, Argaleiós Arákhnēs, was what had allowed me to make not only that strip of cloth to hide Lisa’s identifying freckles, but also the cloak of invisibility that the three of us were huddled under.