I have cold hands. That is the first thing my grandparents commented on when they arrived, as we shared hugs and presents, how chilling my palms are against bare cheeks and necks. They don't feel cold to me, I would always say, because they never do, but to all others they are blocks of ice attached to the end of my arms, and no one even stopped commenting on them. Then it happened, he happened, sweeping me up with lies and dropping me with pain too much for me to ever imagine and I came back from that party with my blood going so fast my skin bubbled. "Your hands are warm today," my grandfather exclaimed with surprise when I met him after that night, and I hugged him hard so he couldn't see that I was sobbing with sadness, agony, injustice. I can't wait for my hands to be cold again.
Mercury, author of Layer Cake, really does have freezing hands. She doesn't know why, but puts it down to "cold hands, warm heart."