but slowly she grew used to them, they moulded to her like a second skin - soft, lustrous and cosy with feelings of sophistication and superiority.
as the days passed they grew into part of her, everyday she would put them on; silky white, over her elbows, with tiny buttons on the most vulnerable part of her wrists.
gradually, she began to depend on them, for it was only with them that she felt comfortable touching things, it was only with them that she felt it was safe to be touched. without them she was nothing, she was unworthy.
the gloves were her. they were her survival, her life in their satiny fingertips.