It was easier before, when she could send Ianthe behind a curtain once her part in things had finished. This time, Palamedes is there for each step, each reworking of bone and removal of the crude systems and constructs she'd designed. She resents it and is pathetically, desperately grateful for the assistance, all at once. As they work, Harrow can sense the pathways reconnecting, things beginning to slot back into place. Channels of power, once dammed, flowing free again.
She wonders, at one point, if she ought to call for a mirror. If she ought to see, half out of fear and half curiosity, if the color of her eyes has shifted. With Gideon in the room with her, resurrected by a power she still doesn't comprehend--but cannot see the hand of the Emperor in at all--it might be a useless concern.
They undo the last bit of damage, and Harrow lets out a breath as Palamedes sets the cut bone back into place. Almost immediately, her skull begins to knit itself together again, new bone blending with the old more perfectly than it had before.
"It's finished," she says, and there's a weariness to the words. Her scalp is laid back into place, the skin healing layer by layer, scabs forming and then flaking away to reveal new, pink skin. "But to know if it worked, if I am...whole again, for good or ill..."
Harrow turns only enough to find where Gideon's sitting, more than slightly green in the face. She looks at her, and there's no zing of pain in her head, no leak of blood or sense of something ripping. If it aches, it's somewhere else entirely.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2021-05-23 07:19 pm (UTC)She wonders, at one point, if she ought to call for a mirror. If she ought to see, half out of fear and half curiosity, if the color of her eyes has shifted. With Gideon in the room with her, resurrected by a power she still doesn't comprehend--but cannot see the hand of the Emperor in at all--it might be a useless concern.
They undo the last bit of damage, and Harrow lets out a breath as Palamedes sets the cut bone back into place. Almost immediately, her skull begins to knit itself together again, new bone blending with the old more perfectly than it had before.
"It's finished," she says, and there's a weariness to the words. Her scalp is laid back into place, the skin healing layer by layer, scabs forming and then flaking away to reveal new, pink skin. "But to know if it worked, if I am...whole again, for good or ill..."
Harrow turns only enough to find where Gideon's sitting, more than slightly green in the face. She looks at her, and there's no zing of pain in her head, no leak of blood or sense of something ripping. If it aches, it's somewhere else entirely.