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There are some days where all he can do is look in the mirror.
Dacien had never particularly cared about what he looked like. He brushed his hair, loving the feeling of the brush going through his dark blue hair, and sometimes when he was in a particularly happy mood, he would put a dusting of red eyeshadow on, just to highlight his eyes, and make his dark red eyes look just a bit brighter.
This... Was new, though.
His core features were still the same. Same small nose. Same moderately filled lips. Same puffiness to his cheeks, which gave him a bit of a baby face even when he was nearing 30. But now, he had unwelcome additions.
His once dark blue hair that had been dyed red at the tips was now disrupted by streaks of white. His two dark red eyes turned to one dark red, one light pink. The area around his light pink eye-- his left eye-- was stark white. Leathery to the touch. Sometimes he'd trace his fingers around the scarring, all the way down to the thin line that stopped just below his jawline. He always tried to ignore the additional line of white just below that. He knew where it led. He had a burst of white on his chest- reminding him how close he had been to losing himself. Losing his humanity and mind, turning into a monster whose sole purpose was to gorge itself on aether, kill his family, his friends, all the innocents in the First who were relying on him---
He had to stop.
He reached out to grab the black cloth- an article he stole from his boyfriend. He thought it made Thancred look ridiculous, when all he had wanted to do was look into his eyes, and really see the man he had spent such a long time looking for after the bloody banquet. He was sure the same cloth made him look ridiculous too. But, when his mind goes down that path of what could've been-- what almost had been, if his daughter wasn't there for him-- he couldn't handle seeing the scarring anymore. He couldn't handle the way that half of his vision was encased in a layer of white- a permanent scar that he couldn't ignore. He always saw it.
So, he put the blindfold on, covering his left eye, and letting it unravel, just a little, just to cover up his cheek just a bit more. He glanced at his hands-- he could see the dark gloves he wore, like he knew he would. It was just.... It was always good to check. Just in case. He grabbed his bow-- what he defaulted to, when he couldn't stand the thought of others seeing his dancer outfit, which showed his entire chest-- and headed out of his room, a smile on his face to greet the day.
After all, he was the Warrior of Light and Darkness. The beacon of hope that countless people relied on. He couldn't just let some scarring keep his spirits down, could he?