She played with the corner of the blanket she was wrapped in, her scar catching the fire’s light as she glanced his way. “And I suppose an ugly part you’ll have to look upon every now and again after we marry.” “It is not ugly,” assured Zimri. “It ruined me being perfect.” Kattiva frowned. “A sentiment my mother liked to remind me of when I was younger.” “Your mother is an idiot,” said Zimri. Kattiva choked on her startled laugh. “Collector, you delight me with your candor.” “It is less candor than fact, for perfection is not real.” “Says the man who is no doubt perfect under that disguise.”
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