the idea of scarves had never crossed her mind in the past. she'd seen them, crayon shades on display on vendors tables in every corner of the city. cashmere, cotton, sheer fabric, long, short--each kind was represented and shilled by men with strange accents, willing to bargain a little if the day was right.
scarves filled a drawer in her dresser now. they covered her bald head, her thin shoulders--draped and tied to hide the worse of the disease and it's equally horrific cure. she was glad for them, for the warmth, the rich colors--the sense of beauty she sought in a world of needles, therapeutic poisons and pain.
