“Why didn’t you want your fingers back?” the boy demanded. “I could heal all your scars. You won’t be ugly anymore. Well . . . less ugly.” Ah, the brutal honesty of children. “I am my scars.” “Removing scars won’t change your past.” “It will make it easier to forget.” “You think you’re the actions that caused the scars?” Bedeckt nodded without saying anything. “You’re wrong,” said Morgen, examining his pristine fingernails and rubbing at something Bedeckt couldn’t see. “We are our beliefs.” “Only the beliefs of the insane define reality.”
