she never

She had never seen herself as being great with crafts. Although she could put together makeshift contraptions to help when she didn’t have any other options, she certainly never understood the draw of simply creating physical things with no purpose. But that rote feeling of boredom refused to blossom, as she fell into the rhythmic pattern that the sewing allowed, even as some part of her mind screamed that it wasn’t something she should enjoy.

For the first dozen years of her life at least, she never washed her hands with warm water, both because the weather never got cold enough to justify it, and out of some twisted sense of toughness that she later called masculinity. Maybe the idea was that if she ever gave in, accepted that her fingers were growing numb, she wouldn’t be as capable.

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