The gloves were the last façade of her femininity. Her mother summoned her home a few years back to help clean out her aunt’s home: not a case of death, but rather the aunt’s disentanglement of all family ties. The gloves had been a bridal gift, and were still in the box in a chest. She wondered why her aunt never wore them. Her aunt’s handmaidens embellished the inside of the silk lining with small-embroidered initials, the same as Lupe’s: LM. Whether luck or strength, Luperci wasn’t sure what they would bring, but hopefully something better than her aunt’s fate.