Why Regina Wears Gloves
The applause from the audience still rings in her ears as Regina walks to her dressing room. She is still flush from excitement and her hands tremble from excess adrenaline.
Her dressing room shuts out most the noise and she catches her breath against the door. She doesn't think she will ever get over the feeling of performing. Even if the world isn't full of fantasy and wonder, for a few minutes every night, she is.
Slowly, Regina starts to undress, starting by taking off her long elbow gloves. They are her favorite color of pink and are covered in sparkles. Although they are very pretty, they serve a purpose too.
She peels back the fabric, revealing old, mending scars next to fresh, violent wounds covered in gauze. When she unwraps the bandages intricate patterns appear on her arms as complex as any tattoo. Long has Regina known there is a price for her line of work, but only recently has she realized how steep that price can be. Although skin mends, some things never heal.
The pads of her thumbs and palms are calloused from constantly handling a whip. Her petite, girlish hands are disfigured by bites and cuts, and no matter how often she cleans them, dirt always lodges itself under her nails.
Regina takes a moment to study her hands against the light. These two hands have seen more action than most hands their age. They have held monkeys, tamed tigers, and played with lion cubs. They recall the silky feel of Leon's fur and the rough texture of Bat's scarf.
She and her hands have been through a lot together, good and bad. She wouldn't trade them for a thing in the world.