It's not. . . it's not exactly burnt, I don't think. . .
[He really didn't know; it felt like something was digging into his leg, though that sensation had largely stopped once he held still; there's a reddish, brownish splotch over his thigh, pretty much looking as though someone had spilled something on it; the brown is about the color of his trousers, though darker as the fabric fused to his skin, and he definitely has not wanted to touch it to see what it feels like. Even the smallest movements felt like someone was digging a knife into his thigh. He'll warn Ciel.]
I don't think you should touch it. We should get outside.
no subject
[He really didn't know; it felt like something was digging into his leg, though that sensation had largely stopped once he held still; there's a reddish, brownish splotch over his thigh, pretty much looking as though someone had spilled something on it; the brown is about the color of his trousers, though darker as the fabric fused to his skin, and he definitely has not wanted to touch it to see what it feels like. Even the smallest movements felt like someone was digging a knife into his thigh. He'll warn Ciel.]
I don't think you should touch it. We should get outside.