Severus Snape was standing in front of the mirror, inspecting his naked chest. He had detested the Dark Mark that had tarnished his skin since he had come of age. Had expected to hate the new one as well but, ... it was barely there. There was nothing but faint lines over his heart that could be written off as scars from a potion accident. However, they were of a very distinguished shape: a lightning bolt. Brushing over it, with the tips of his fingers, he wondered if the spell had even been successful. This mark did not feel like anything. But then he remembered their connection. The young man had not looked him in the eye but still had been in his head. The bond between them, however, it was not the dark, invasive, one the Dark Lord had chosen. Snape wondered if that made it better. Did he want a mark that enslaved his mind, body and soul, despite not being able to feel it, or did he want the vile magic back, if only to remember his status?