That scar was disgusting. To Silco, the basted thing made him look monstrous, loathsome. How could you love such a creature?

His eye was abhorrent and mutated, his face scarred and rough. It made him look untrustworthy— as if he wasn’t already.

Silco couldn’t work out why you still loved him. How you’d sit in his lap and caress his left face, whisper sweet words to him. In your eyes it was as if nothing was wrong with him. In those beautiful eyes of yours, filled with so much affection for such a broken man…

“I don’t know why you don’t run.” He interrupted your daily love shower. Your lips paused on his eyebrow, then you pulled back. Silco read your confusion and continued, “look at me.” He sighed, revealing a rare vulnerability, “my eye is…grotesque.”

He held himself in such low physical regard. Obviously, intellectually he was superior to most of Zaun, he was the only one fit to run it after all. But he couldn’t bare showing himself. He couldn’t even bare revealing himself to you. He’d even learned how to do makeup to hide away the disfigurement. But you loved him the same. And to Silco, that meant the world.