EVIL EYE.

Trying not to make it obvious she’s staring over at Milo. Eyes flickering back and forth from them to the floor.

It was hard not to look over at them, after all … It was such a mesmerizing, beautiful sight to see.

       As it is, Milo is a touch... distracted at the moment. Still they rub and rub over their eye, glistening wet in the light, turning matte with the touch of fabric, last threads of optic nerve following behind it like streamers. Still the decay festers in their socket, turning the skin angry and inflamed, all but boiling around the open wound and the belching of thickened blood the same consistency and appearance of tar.

       Fickle thing. There’s something wrong with it — Milo does not see, not in the proper way which things with eyes typically conceive of as sight, but rather there is some imperfection in it. Some mass and shape, something rolling around inside... They would like to burst it open and remove what’s ruining their newest picture, but they’d sooner rather push it back to someplace less obvious.