Once, Prince Zjavus was a handsome fellow, with hair like a raven's wing and even darker eyes which even so would sparkle with smilelight reflected from teeth as white as the innocent flesh of a legendary Princess (or as snow, which just happens to be said princess' name).

That was before. In a good light a hint of his handsomeness can still be seen but the shadow of the brim of his hat, the filthy rag around the remains of his eyes, and the sharp knife at his belt all serve to hide his beauty.  His handsomeness is as useless as the bow the blind beggar still insists on carrying around.