When Caroline makes quilts, she always makes sure to bleed a little on the needle. She figures that no matter where the quilt ends up, a little bit of her will travel with it. In this way, she imagines she’ll have traveled all over the world.

Whenever a stranger comes in to the Country Quilter, she asks where they’re from. It takes them a little while to warm up to her, since Caroline’s lazy eye tends to put them off. She encourages them to take the quilts with them on trips.

“They’re especially good for those long flights. You won’t really be able to cover yourself up with one of those tiny airline blankets. Why not bring one of these along with you?”

Now Caroline would be the first to admit that this was a little odd, but since she can’t travel, she figures she’s allowed to fantastize her blood landing in strange exotic airports.

Lieing in her cell at night, she dreams of attractive people wrapped up in her quilts, their sweat soaking into the fabric, mixing with her blood. She’s touching them every time they sleep, every time they’re cold. She likes that. She’d like very much to touch them with her fingers.

Of course, the court order prevents her from touching anyone anymore.

She really doesn’t think that’s fair. It isn’t her fault. She didn’t choose to get the skin disease. She doesn’t even know where it came from.

She’s allowed to sell her quilts as long as she washes them first and has somebody else put them on display. Fortunately for Caroline, blood stains don’t wash out easily.

Sometimes, when her nurse/assistant dozes off, she runs her bands hands over everything in the shop. This hurts her more than a little, as it chafes her brittle skin, but it makes her feel so much closer to her customers.

Ultimately, they’ll feel closer to her, too.