>Relax ourselves as necessary, and begin the process of adjusting our eyesight to get a better look at the blemishes. If looking at the blemished while we do so would help with getting them into sharped focus, do so, but if not, trust our own instincts and experience. Do this very slowly and carefully, taking all the time we need to be comfortable. If we think we're going to injure ourselves if we go further, stop.
>You sprawl out on your bed and look at the ceiling, then close your eyes and get to work. Looking at things is just a distraction.
>Slowly, gently, you focus on your eyes and begin to ever so slowly mold them. You grow keenly aware of their shape, aware of the feeling of them resting within your head. You can dimly feel the backs of them, and the cords that connect them to your body. You try very hard not to focus on the latter, partially because it promises to lead you to things you dare not mess with, and partially because it would only distract from your current purpose. Gently, you prod them here and poke them there, rather like flexing muscles you don't actually possess. You can't change their shape, that would be disastrous, so instead you try to change the insides, though you can only dimly sense what actually is inside, and understand little of it. Even if you did know, you would still be largely using guesswork. Every so often, you pause and open your eyes, letting them focus and gauging how blurry everything is. Then you close them again, and tinker some more. You begin to gently experiment with the front; gently, every so gently, manipulating your pupil. You have a vague knowledge of how you need to shape it, but you're working entirely by feel. And should you make one part too thin, you shudder to think what would happen...
>After several tries, you open your eyes and let them focus, and are pleased to see that your vision is markedly more keen than before, you can see the wood grains on your ceiling more clearly than before.
>_
