"Good. That was clever of you," Anders was a lot of things, but he knew healing. It's some measure of how badly this must ache. "Never supposed I'd call gold the practical solution,"

But picking crushed glass from socket would ask a touch more than heavy draughts. A blessing they needn't fret for her vision, one which he declines to voice: You might have lost the eye now, so you're quite ahead of schedule,

Very clever indeed. It's broken, and it might be worse, doesn't shove far from place. Left to its own devices, this would heal. Unpleasantly, and asymmetrically, but she'd move and speak without much pain. More than one mask disguises a war wound, else a servant's troubles — there are stones everywhere. Tender faces, too.

"We'll reduce the swelling, and stabilize the bone," Thinking aloud, a steady drone to grip for. If it should keep her getting a word in, all the better. "I'll need to go slowly."

So this doesn't ossify into gnarl. Urging the body to its own shape is a short step from overgrowth, and he's no notion how they'd grind the thing back down. An eye over his shoulder. Felix, fetch:

"Any portraits," He isn't a sculptor, Leander would have been better for this. He'd not allow Leander anywhere near. "So many angles as you have."