[color=1876D2]“That would… Be relieving. Thank you,”[/color] The prince admitted. Magic was clearly something that was important, not just to the elves, but the Lyra herself. His heather coloured eyes fell to the car; he could not imagine being asked to live in a world without the technology he had grown up with, that he understood and accepted as his culture. For that reason he, nor anyone from Anjou, could ask the elves to give up magic. Having someone around who understood his aversion for magic, someone who would help him learn to accept it, perhaps even to be fascinated by it, was a huge consolation. August was jolted from his thoughts as Lyra wrapped her fingers around his own and he looked back up at her. Rather than pulling away, August let Lyra take his hand, his false one and felt a twinge of sorrow as realisation and heartbreak blossomed over the princess’ features. Her finding out about his arm was an inevitability, but he had not wished it to go like this. August did not nurture pity for his wound; so many of his comrades had lost their lives, so he felt himself lucky, in many ways, to have ‘only’ lost a limb. He could see, however, that Lyra felt his loss keenly; it was not one of misaligned sympathy, but grief for everything the war had cost them both. It was the poignant recognition that the humans had been scarred, grievously, by the elves’ actions, as much as they had been by them. [color=1876D2]“Do not apologise, Lyra,”[/color] August said softly, [color=1876D2]“it is what it is. I do not wish to look in to the past, where I was hurt; I would rather look to the future. Will you look with me? Will you help me build a future for our people that is bright and magnificent and free from pain?”[/color] As Lyra let go of his hand, the prince hesitated in thought before removing his fine leather gloves. He still felt self-conscious of the gun-metal grey of his right hand, but he had nothing to hide. Lyra had held his hand up to her face, the gesture tender, and August had watched, unable to feel her warmth. The prosthetic was excellently made and restored most of his lost function, but it did not restore any sensation. Although he had full control over the false limb, it sometimes it felt as if it were someone else’s. It was cold and numb, every bit a machine where he was organic. August wanted to feel the touch of Lyra, of his future wife. He wanted to feel her fingers when she clasped the bracelet about his wrist, to share in that connection she had felt when she held his right hand. [color=1876D2]“Of course,”[/color] August removed the time piece necklace from its box, draping the chain across metal fingers, ready to place it around Lyra’s neck before offering her his left hand.