Yes, usually people forget. But I--as far as I know, I remember everything. I certainly remember how I died.

[ and there's something bitter there, because he'd almost rather not--but that's just how it is, isn't it? he never gets what he wants.

the inhale startles him, a little, and it doesn't click what the problem is until anderson's hand flattens on his chest, and he looks down-- ]

What--

[ that's not possible. he doesn't scar, because his body doesn't work that way. there's a pause, a silence, as he tries to remedy it, but nothing happens and he's left feeling lost, violated, and furious. ]

I can't get it to go away. [ his voice is a little rough, like he's struggling to keep his composure. he's only just gained real autonomy, and now this happened.

his hand lifts, fingertips barely brushing the edge of the scar, and he grits his teeth. ]

I don't want this. I just got rid of marks I didn't want, and now I have to deal with more?

[ it's not right. alessandro doesn't own him, even if he did best him, and the mere thought of bearing the mark--what, forever? just makes him so angry.

his nails dig down hard, drawing blood, but they both know that like this, it's just going to heal over. ]