Lyra was swift with her hands, her movements steady and precise as she trimmed and shaved away the uneven scruff that had grown across Ian's jaw. He sat still, watching her work in the polished bronze mirror she held up to check the angles. When she was done, she wiped his face clean with a damp cloth, and Ian caught his reflection properly for the first time in what felt like ages. He looked younger, sharper, almost like the person he used to see staring back at him in his world. He gave her a small nod of approval.
"Better," he admitted. "At least now I don't look like I've been dragged through a pit."
Lyra smiled faintly, tucking the cloth away. "You look more fitting for who you are meant to be, my lord."
Ian sighed and muttered under his breath, "Meant to be, huh. That's the part I'm still not sure about."
