A little before dinner, Arthur had one more trip to his bedroom. Once alone he was staring at the most perfect flaw a sphere could have.
In the mirror, he was observing the two nearly invisible dents over both his ring-like irises. Moving a torch around his head, he observed his pupils dilate and constrict to regulate the amount of light his eyes would capture.
His source of light nearly burning his hair, he looked at the round shape shifting to a slit-like aspect. It resembled Bast's meanest glare, making him let out a comment. 'I understand why they say blinded by grief and rage, the way we perceive the world is indeed linked to our sight, but it's dictated by our feelings.'
He saw the ghost in the mirror, his mumblings concerned the relationship he had with the wyrmfolk.
"I don't understand why you've pitied her this much. You've spent what, ten days together? Barely the blink of an eye."
