Amber.
Cold. Cruel. Harsh. Eyes he remembered ablaze with hate.
His eyes.
Uncertainty.
"What have I doneā¦" Even his voice was cold and deep, like ice.
He didn't like those eye as they stared into his own. They snatched at all the weaknesses of a corrupted heart, shoving them until they were visible to their bearer.
Shoved into the focus of eyes that had refuse to see. He'd been blinder when he got himself, no, all three of them, into this mess than that first time he'd been forced to put on that damned blindfold.
Large brown hands reached to tie the familiar rough fabric, but it did no good. Not to him. Maybe that blindfold could lie to the world for him, but he knew better.
It couldn't lie to him.
Oh, how he wished it could.
