Vincent looks into the mirror, and wonders.
He tugs on a lock of his hair, golden as the sun, as Oz Vessalius' own. Much too long though, but definitely the right shade. Smooth and silky, cared for.
He peers at his eyes— one of misfortune's ilk, and the other his brother's yellow. But how to fix them? Well, he could always take a leaf out of Cheshire's book. That would be enough.
A few more moments of contemplation passed, wherein Vincent decided that he couldn't do anything about his height and would rather not cut more things than necessary.
He smiles at his reflection, and picks up his sharpest scissors.
He was sure he wouldn't look good in the robes of a Vessalius, but Brother wouldn't care about that when he was through.
Vincent had messed many things up, but this, this chance, he would not.
Snip, went his scissors.
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fin
Author's Notes: This shall be continued.