I’m sorry, really I am. It was never my intention to steal your glass eye. I saw it by the darkened desk side as you dozed a cyclopes, and if Sinbad was anything to go by this was my time to strike.
What a treasure it was! Iris as green as an emerald sky, pupil black as the charcoal you draw with. I thought it might be something nice to remember you by, it had great potential for decor back at home. It might go great by my teal painted door. How it would gleam by my first edition Guide to Shogunates, a bust of mazdak, broken china and burnt feathers.
Yes, something to remember you by, an eye for an I! Surely the flowers I left should make up for it. It’s a fair exchange! In the land of the blind, all you need is an eye.