Andras nodded and took her hand with a coy expression. "What scars?" he asked in an oblivious kind of tone. He knew all of her past, she was kind enough to share the majority of it after all, but he did not see her as broken or scarred. He just saw her. And sometimes he saw the hungry, frightened human who shot him to death.
As they stepped forward he stopped at the door before opening it. "My mask," his free hand that had reached toward the knob raised up to his face and touched the peculiar masquerade mask fused to his flesh. "Should we glamour it?"