"I hate it," he said.  "That's why.  I wasn't trying to... it's hardly a secret I was a Death Eater."  His tongue stumbled a little at the end, and he didn't meet her eyes, but he unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and rolled the fabric up with slow, miserable care.  She stepped forward and stared down at the Mark.  The black she'd seen on other Death Eater's arms had faded into a dull grey. It was ugly.  It was the color of lost dreams.  It was hopelessness made flesh.  She reached a finger out to touch it and hesitated, her hand hovering just above his skin.