I try to slam the wooden panel closed, but there is already a person in the way. He walks into my cabin, and I can sense him looking around and assessing everything. “This is a sweet little setup,” he says in surprise. “You’re very organized.” I’m a little nervous, so I keep holding the door open, letting the cold air gust into the room. “This wasn’t a good idea,” I tell the doctor. “I changed my mind. You should go.” “Wow,” he says softly. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous.” I shift uncomfortably as I imagine his eyes roaming all over my body. I crinkle my nose up in a rebellious attempt to look unattractive. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I have never looked into a mirror.” “For that reason alone, you should take my offer,” he informs me. “When you gain the ability to see, the first thing I’m going to do after the operation is present you with a mirror.
