(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Annah glared at Grace and Sarhava furiously.
Sarhava bowed low. "Then allow me to excuse myself with an apology,
Mistress Grace, to you and your companions. My words were ill-chosen. 'Tis
the drink that caused me to speak such rubbish, and I am filled with shame
for having belittled myself so before my teacher of old." She bowed, turned,
and left.
"Wow..." Morte said, ogling, "That was great."
Grace sighed, giving one last glance at her old student. She really did seem
disappointed, "The trick is knowing when to prod and when to nudge,
Morte, but you did well. As did you, Annah. The individual experiences she
had with us will remain with her for a long time, and if she is the Sensate I
had hoped she would be... she will learn much from today."
"Well now..." I cleared my throat, "How about we do some shopping to put
this behind us?"
Grace smiled. "I would appreciate that very much," she glanced at Annah,
who was still glaring at her and looking as if she were ready to chew glass,
"In fact, I know just the place…”
~~~~~
I walked slowly among the racks and cubbyholes, heavy with silks and satin
gowns. This wasn't what I had in mind, but I was more than willing to
indulge Fall-From-Grace.
I couldn't see myself in any of these clothes: some were more embroidery
than they were cloth, so rich that if I wore one of these coats I would've
been gutted for my coin the moment I stepped into the Hive. Even the
plainest shirt was good silk, and smelled faintly of sweet cologne. I draped
one shirt over my arm, and the light cloth, so comfortable and smooth for
anyone else, dragged gently at my puckered scars with an odd tickling
sensation.
I didn't think I could ever wear a shirt comfortably. Even if I could, it'd just
serve to contrast and enhance the mass of ugly above the collar.
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