[b]He stared at your arm, pain in his eyes.[/b] [i]"Are you depressed, Nathalie? This won't mean anything to you, but.. When I was 14, my alcoholic father used to beat me. One day, he tore my arm off, like a second grader with a fly's wing. I miss my arm, Nathalie. You should be thankful you have one."[/i] [b]His prosthetic whirred and clicked slightly. He hugged you, tightly.[/b] [i]"Your mom is good with this stuff- Tell her if you have issues, please."[/i]