“Hardly insurmountable,” said Harrow, having regained her composure.
“Very hopeful! What would you use?”
“A corporeal ward; skin-bound, tight focus.”
“Try it.”
Harrowhark flexed her fingers slowly. Gideon watched as she narrowed her eyes into obsidian slits, fringed thickly with blunt black lashes, and then extended her hand beyond the line again. There was a brief shower of blue sparks; Harrow snatched her hand back, amazed and furious. The fingers had withered into puckered twigs; her little nail had fallen off entirely. The edges of her sleeve had holed and frayed as though assaulted by moths. Gideon lunged out of a sheer desire to do something, but Harrow held her back with her healthy hand, staring fixedly at the hurt one as it slowly mended.

Gideon the Ninth - Act Three, Chapter Twenty