The coat could be worn all winter. My jerkin had more than paid for itself over the years,
but I would keep it, of course, in case it was required again in future.
I hung everything up carefully. I was ready. Bring out your dead.
Friday was bright, although it was impossible to tell if it would stay that way.
I showered and put on my new clothes. It had been many years since I’d worn tights,
preferring a handy pair of pop socks under my slacks, but I still remembered how to roll them on.
I was very careful, as they were thin and delicate, and could be ripped in an instant by a careless fingernail.
I felt enclosed in them, somehow, as though I was wearing someone else’s skin. I’d made my legs black, and my hair blond.
I’d lengthened and darkened my eyelashes, dusted a flush of pink onto my cheeks
and painted my lips a shade of dark red which was rarely found in nature.
I should, by rights, look less like a human woman than I’d ever done,
and yet it seemed that this was the most acceptable, the most appropriate appearance that I’d ever made before the world.
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