Iris saw Dacre sitting at a long table set for tea, directly in her line of sight. Their gazes met and held like a spell had been cast. He was ageless, timeless, cut from sharp and terrible beauty. His appearance was difficult to look away from, both pleasing and deadly, as if one had stared too long at the sun. Iris could still see him when she closed her eyes, like his impression had been burned there.
Maybe I could fix him or something
