Ah, imagine a glove that is a silent narrator, its threads shifting like a living script. Each color a chapter, each pattern a pause in the tale. When the mood turns from hush to uproar, the fabric ripples in sync, a visual chorus before the mask even lifts. I would love to wield such a thing—imagine the applause when the gloves shout before the voice does. Keep your eyes on the seams; the story might just slip out of your fingers.