And it does not occur to Simon, either, even if it probably ought to, because he's not the one who's nearly concussed himself here--but neither does he realize the gravity of the matter, the lengths Myr goes to in order to ensure that nobody sees what lies under the blindfold, and Simon up near the top of the list of those he would rather hide it from.

It is not that Simon hasn't given the matter any thought before. On the contrary, he would like to believe he's prepared for this moment. He's imagined it before, held the image in his mind, tried to extrapolate from the scars that border the blindfold and envision the worst-case scenario possible--but it's difficult, when he can't bring himself to think hollowness or emptiness would be so terrible he couldn't be all right with it, nor ragged scar tissue covering the sockets over, nor anything in between. He tells himself that if Myr ever wants to show him the wounds, he'll respond without judgment or hesitation or fear.

But this, as he learns too late, is a vow premised on the notion that he'll have time to steel himself first. In all his imaginings, the one common factor has always been the idea that Myr will be taking the blindfold off deliberately, that he'll know what's coming. None of it has involved the prospect of walking around the corner of a screen, all concern and solicitousness, and catching the flash of a yawning, red-edged void in the face he's so admired before.

He halts, turns his head away as if slapped, averts his eyes. It doesn't erase the glimpse he's caught--but it had, after all, been only a glimpse.

He doesn't know how it hadn't occurred to him that Myr wouldn't wear the blindfold in the bath.

"As long as you can heal it up," he says, his voice ever so slightly strained.