Ichiro's mouth moved once – his jaw almost clenching, but not quite - and relaxed back.
"They had rooms" he said. "Dark ones. Warm when they wanted you calm. Cold when you were alone. They never said please. They wore gloves…"
Lynea's fingers curled against her knee. Her nails pressed half-moons into the skin.
"Dozens of us" Ichiro continued. He paused on the word dozens, as if counting again, checking the number against memories he didn't want to remember. "They put stones in us. Or tried. I don't remember the day they did mine. I remember the week after. The light went wrong - everything had a bright edge around it, like looking through water."
"Do you still see like that…?" Feris asked, lifting her face from the plushie whale for a few seconds.
Ichiro shook his head. "No. Thankfully, it only lasted a year."
The stone in his shoulder pulsed. A slow spread of brown-gold under the skin, visible where his cloak had been pulled aside. Keahi flinched.
