No Gloves

She covers her whole face with a mask, even though it’s just the left side that has the worst of the scars.
“Symmetry,” she growls.
She changes masks throughout the day, some smiling, some angry, some expressionless… just a white shaped piece of ceramic with two holes for eyes.
The left eye is fine, but the right one is different.
Bloodshot. Dilated.
“I see better with it than with the other,” she says, and she goes back to painting.
She wears the mask, but not gloves.
The brush in the blackened claw of her right hand dashes along the canvas.