"Ugh... it's actually scary..." Aether whispered, his footsteps echoing against the aged wooden floorboards as he inched closer to the painting. His remaining hand trembled slightly, fingers curling and uncurling with nervous energy. The empty sleeve where his left arm should have been fluttered softly in the draft that seemed to perpetually haunt the mansion's corridors.
With practiced movements that spoke of recent adaptation, he used his right hand to secure the loose sleeve, tucking and folding it into a neat knot. The fabric whispered against itself as he worked, a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence of the gallery.
Each movement was deliberate, careful – the motions of someone still learning to navigate the world with half the limbs they were born with.
