I wondered if it was easier for those who had been born truly blind.
Having never known colours, light, or the relative pleasures and horrors of vision, I wondered if they lived in a state of blissful ignorance. Were they frustrated when told of something they could never experience? Or was it a matter of not being bothered what they didn’t know?
There had been times when my gift had been unpleasant, more a hinderance than a help. Through the eyes of others I had seen things I had not wanted to see – my ability was not restricted by walls, something that some didn’t know and those who did sometimes forgot. It was the habit of people to think themselves alone and unspied on when they closed their doors.
But my family, by and large, had adjusted for me. As befitted my station, I would have been given large personal chambers in the estate, but when my innate magic had become apparent my parents had deemed a change to be in order. When I was old enough to have my own room, I’d been given the expansive quarters in the west wing of the mansion, where it was unlikely that I would inadvertently spy on the lives of others in the Varr household. They gave me Maei, ordered the whining thing to be with me at all times as my eyes, and until I dismissed them entirely at my own ascension to head of the family, two other personal servants and a pair of bodyguards, all to make sure I’d never be alone.