"I can force you to do as I wish," I said.
"Prove it!"
I took over. And while Donald watched with helpless horror his hand picked up a knife and drew it across his arm. The keen edge split the tissues neatly and the blood flowed.
"Don! What are you doing!" Edith screamed and then stiffened as Ven took control.
"Observe," I said as I released control.
"Why, you—" Donald began—and then continued in a tone of wonder. "Why—the cut's closing! There's no more blood—It's gone!"
"It's just one of the improvements I mentioned," I said smugly. "You also had a patch of scar tissue on your left lung and infected kidneys. You do not have them now. Had you not met us you would have been dead within five of your years."
He was shaken. I could feel it. "I do have Bright's disease," he said thoughtfully.
"You had it," I corrected.