[And it doesn't take conscious thought anymore . . . he's still singing, still aware of his body singing, but here . . . he's not.
He's singing because she is. And his perceptions of the world outside this world are tinged with . . .
Those are the pillars of the room, distributed to hold the domes ceiling, and the cupola over the balcony. The arches hold the weight, and he can tell how deep the foundation goes, and that—
—the cords connecting the pieces of the regalia mimic a neural net, allowing the translation of nerve-based impulse from her to him, but it's optimized for fine motor control—
—Edward's arm is broken. He can see the parts, recognize them, tell without even needing to think about it what needs to be changed, which parts need to be reformed and replaced. He can see beyond that, too . . . see how joints could move better, how the weight could be more naturally distributed if they only had the right parts . . .]