For a moment Britannia hesitated. Not because of modesty, she hadn't had such feminine concerns since she had given up her identity as a female in the 19th century, but if only because she didn't want to show the source of her weakness. Still, the feeling passed after a moment and she finally let her hand fall away. Her shirt, now speckled with dots of bright red that were her blood, was otherwise clean and undamaged save for the wrinkling done by her grip.

Underneath, however, was a different story. Across her chest over her heart, roughly 6-7 inches in length, was a large, angry scar that stood out in stark contrast to the rest of her skin. The veins around it were swollen and vivid, as if her blood had been poisoned in that one area, making it obvious that the wound was recent and going nowhere. The blood itself, smeared in bits by her shirt, came from the scar in small drops despite its size, indicating it was nothing more than a byproduct of an almost sealed wound.

The damage beneath her skin was most likely an entirely different story, but for now it certainly wasn't life threatening.