Kylo's shifting attention - once Vader can spare it - was met with gold-tiped black fingers lightly touching his upper arms. The right forearm an elegant work of art, black metal and gold, nothing extra but every piece hand crafted to be functional and beautiful. The left, grey durasteel, much less refined and bulky. His thighs showed the same cruder work, until they vanished just below his knees into his boots.

"Obviously you can ignore the limbs. My brain still thinks they are there." And the phantom pains were ganging up on him now. "You'll likely to feel like you've been thrown into ice. Don't fight it. Treat it like current, fly through it. Don't forget to breathe." Fly or swim. And he doubted she could swim.