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<span class="mu-i">You prod your face anxiously as your eye— the bad eye, the iron eye— grinds against its socket.</span>
<span class="mu-i">It is black, and your iron eye, your bad eye, is grinding against its socket.</span>
—turned around. When Richard wanted it to, mainly. Or when he was mushed into your brain and wanted it to. You've never stopped to think about it before. Why does it need to turn around?
What had Madrigal done again? When she had those dumb inexplicable nightmare powers. (Thank God she got rid of those.) She just dug her fingers into her socket and popped her eyeballs right... out. It didn't look difficult or anything. And those were her real eyeballs, too, or at least her real goo eyeballs— your bad eye isn't your real eye. It is, maybe, not an eye at all.
Deep breath. If it hurts, you'll stop: making a noise will alert the Manager, you're sure of it. Quietly, then. Use your other hand to lift your eyelids. Aren't you glad your fingernails were long when you drowned?
Positive thinking. Positive thinking. Positive thinking. Aaaaand...
...it's out. Your bad eye, body-warm and iron, lies damply in your palm. Now you really, truly have one eye— can force your finger past your fluttering eyelashes and stick it in the cavity. It's damp in there too. Not bloody or anything. Just damp.
Your vision hasn't changed, because you couldn't see anything anyways. That makes you feel a little better. Your bad eye is the size of a gumball, but much heavier. Like iron. (You knew that already.) It is rough like a old nail, but uniform across half its surface. (You knew that too. You've seen it in mirrors.) There's only one peculiarity: the other half. It's still iron, still rough, but there's an engraving in it. Follow it with your finger, and it goes in and in and in and around and around and around and in and around forever. A spiral with no close.
You clasp your fingers around the bad eye and envision casting it away. If you threw it into the dark, you'd never get it back. It wouldn't be yours anymore. You'd be free of its curse, if it has one. In your marrow, though, you feel that it wouldn't do much— that your curse, if you have one, runs deeper and sicker than that. Also, you like having two eyeballs, or at least two pseudo-eyeballs. One-and-a-half eyeballs. It beats one.
So instead you hold your eyelid back, bite your lip, and pop your bad eye back in. Spiral-side out.
>[GAINED: Wyrm's Dead Eye. You can see the strings of reality, plus whatever knock-on effects this has.]
>[-1 ID: 5/14]
(2/4?)
