When I blink and it’s still there, I look up at him. “Ummm. It’s a hand. A severed hand. There’s still blood on it. And the bone is poking out. The cuticles look terrible,” I ramble. “You gave me a severed hand… Why?” He points at it proudly. “The guard named Gammon. He struck you with that hand. Now that hand is yours.” Realization settles in, and I gasp. “Aww, you cut off his hand for me?” I croon. He grins. “I did, my beloved. No one is allowed to hurt you.”
