“‘What have they done to me, Fitz? Gods, what have they done to you, to mark you so? What has become of me, that I did not know you though I carried you in my arms?’ His cool fingers moved tentatively down my face, tracing the scar and the broken nose. He leaned down suddenly to rest his brow against mine. ‘When I recall how beautiful you were,’ he whispered brokenly, and then fell silent. The warm drip of his tears against my face felt scalding.”
