You can always tell a true super-villain by his finesse. Any cranky mutant with dumb brute force can reduce a city to rubble or enslave a sheep-like populace, but it takes a true master such as myself to drive his victims deliciously mad before they finally kneel.
Allow me to illustrate.
The human female is notorious for her cold hands. This one of her gloves. Its mate (the one without the ravelly hole) is lost somewhere in her car.
This one of her brown gloves.
The brown pair lasted about a week before I hid one in a different car. Between one moment and the next, it vanished. Poof.
She also has one solid blue glove, one red one, one maroon cloth one, and several others that are the last representatives of their species.
Here is a full matched pair! They’re the kind she likes, too, with the long cuffs that keep her gangly orangutan wrists warm.
But I’ve seen to it that both have gaping holes.
And here’s another pair. Nice, snowy white ones.
I don’t know what happened–they were clean when she wore them for the first time this morning.
Ehehehehe! Her mother sends her bags full at every gifting opportunity and I just go through them like Volstagg through a buffet line. She is just about to crack completely and is almost reduced to wearing socks on her chapped little hands.
Oh, look! Mittens!
They’re a matched pair (more or less), they’re intact, and Sigyn assures me they are “very cute.” They are also half-sized Yule decorations, so the only functional pair of hand-warmers in this whole house is the pair that doesn’t fit.
It’s going to be a looooooong winter.