"My dear, you have more scars..." Elizabeth's pale fingers, painted with dark red nail polish, traced across Charles's chest.
Charles caught her fingers. "Scars that time can erase don't matter, no matter how many there are. The troublesome ones are those that never heal."
"And your left arm…" A flicker of pain crossed Elizabeth's face as she looked at Charles's iron hand. They hadn't seen each other for three years, and he looked like he'd suffered so much.
"It's fine. In fact, a prosthetic like this is even more useful than my original arm. You should ask them about your eye, too. Perhaps they have a substitute for that as well." Charles flexed his prosthetic left arm.
Elizabeth shook her head gently, lifting the eye patch on her face. Beneath her slender black eyelashes, an eye with a black iris and a red pupil gazed at Charles.
"What is this? Is it a relic that can replace vision?" Charles asked in surprise.
