"No, I do." The slant of his brow is so very serious; from this equal vantage, it casts a deep shadow across his face. "I do like it. The bird is very sweet, Mister Ellis. But the clasp is—"

With her hand freed, Wysteria makes an absent motion with the fingers of her right hand. The prosthetic at her left side is nearly angled at her side; from a distance, and if one failed to observe the clamp rather than the hand where her sleeve cuff terminates, the alteration of her shoulders and her clothes about her person might be entirely negligible.

"It's too fine," she says, thumb and finger miming at the task of trying to unclip something one handed. She has decided not to be embrassed, and so she isn't. "The chain isn't long enough to pass over my head."