6 × Text
[Erik woke that morning and ran a hand over his face. He was happy to discover that it was masculine, because his adventures as a woman were not funny. At all. Still, there was a problem. He ran a hand across his face and were there was once uneven and horribly scarred skin, it was...smooth. Had...had he been healed?
He leaped from the bed, nearly tripping since his legs were tangled in the sheets, so he could see himself in the mirror. But when he looks, the face looking back is not his own.
He stands there, for a solid hour, staring at Raoul's reflection. The comm clicks on finally. Text all the way bb.]
I tire of the Captain's tricks.
((OOC: I'll be responding with phantomvicomte))