Just A Light Scuffle, He Said
It was an appaling sight, Zhongli thought.
Instead of two brilliantly deep cerulean blue, staring back at him was only one half of the pair, left in the other pair's place was a cold ice blue, mutely and vacantly returning his stare. A part of him wanted to know what the initial injury looked like, how badly was the eyeball wounded for The Tsaritsa to replace it with this imitation. Though another part of him reasoned, had he been there, he might've lost control over rage.
--
"I want to hurt her for this."
"Oh, but surely your beloved would be upset if you were to do that, no?"
"She could've prevented this."
"Ah, his left eye," Ping shook her head in lament. "Yes, so I've heard. What a shame."
"She could've-"
"He's already lost it, Morax. No amount of cursing at his Archon can bring it back," his old friend threw a sharp sidelong glance at him. "I heard he was quiet cavalier for someone who just recently lost an eye."
"She gifted him another."
"Ah, a matter of jealousy, then."
What? "No."
