She takes off her glasses.

The right eye is same. Gone. Scar tissue, mottled and grotesque, tight at the edges.

The left eye examines me through a clear green iris.

I never thought of green. I always imagined blue. Stereotypical blue. That is supposed to be ideal, no?

That clear green eye stares at me, unflinching.

My lack of imagination has failed me in many ways. Is in part what I blame for all this.

Betrayal of worst sort.

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