Blue opened and closed her chilly fists. The top edges of her fingerless gloves were fraying; she’d done a bad job knitting them last year, but they had a certain trashy chic to them. If she hadn’t been so vain, Blue could’ve worn the boring but functional gloves she’d been given for Christmas. But she <i>was</i> vain, so instead she had her fraying fingerless gloves, infinitely cooler though also colder , and no one to see them but Neeve and the dead.