[ Mordred wasn't lying when she said she's seen it all before, first reflected in the king's visage, and now in any mirrors she happens to pass by, though she does her best to avoid them. That doesn't mean she'll ever be truly used to it, though — to this girl with her father's face, but none of his mien or majesty; who struggles to even make eye contact, when the king always stared straight at and through her, as if she wasn't there at all, right up until the very end. The injuries themselves don't cause her any upset, despite the severity, only how out of place they look on the face wearing them.

She hates it.

(She envies it.)

She wants to destroy it.

(She wanted to ensure nothing else got to destroy it first.) ]

... Damn, you really got fucked up. [ Gray's efforts to clean her face weren't without merit, though Mordred's objective, third party eye can see what she missed, and what the bandages have served to spread. With a tsk, she looks over her shoulder. ] Wait here a sec. I'll see what I can st... borrow.

[ Gray's left to her own devices as Mordred rummages around, returning a minute later with a sandwich in one hand and several napkins in the other. The latter she uses to dab at Gray's face, not bothering to state the obvious fact of this is going to hurt, though she does hold them up first to telegraph her intentions. (If she focuses on the bloody and bruised skin, it's easier to avoid seeing the King Arthur shaped whole, and her eyes narrow in concentration and nothing else as she works.) ]

That's as good as it's gonna get. [ She announces after a minute of cleaning, tossing the bloodied napkins aside. It's the first time in her life she's ever done this for someone, and she has no idea if there's anything else she's meant to do before reapplying the bandages... or if there's anything she can do, in these circumstances.

After a prolonged, thoughtful pause, she holds out the sandwich. ] Hungry? It's some kinda meat, by the look of it.