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FIFTY-FOUR: Soaked In The Rain
publish date:
2026-06-21 21:46:04
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Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-FIVE: The Cave
My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.I can’t let him see.If he forces me to take off this shirt, if he sees the raw, jagged tracks Sofia left across my skin—and the older, faded silver scars my brother Caesar carved into me years ago—the carefully curated lie of the perfect, adored Bennington princess will be obliterated.He’ll see exactly how broken I am.He’ll see I’m nothing but a thoroughly discarded tool.“I . . . I scraped myself,” I lie quickly, forcing my voice to sound casual, even though my hands are trembling beneath the heavy wool.I quickly avert my eyes, staring at his wet collarbone to avoid his suffocating gaze.“When the horse bolted into the thicket. I got thrown off, and the low branches caught my back. It looks worse than it is.”Konstantin doesn’t move.He stands perfectly still in the middle of the pouring rain, staring down at me with an intensity that feels like a physical weight pressing against my chest.The silence stretches between us.I c
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-FOUR: Soaked In The Rain
I brace for the impact, my eyes clamped shut so hard.The scream tearing from my throat sounds more like a wounded animal than a human being.I prepare myself for the crushing weight of the silver-grey beast, for the tearing of flesh and the absolute certainty of teeth sinking into my throat on the frozen Russian dirt.Instead, a wet, sickening thwack echoes through the dark woods.A hot explosion of liquid hits my face.It sprays across my cheeks, my closed eyelids, and the exposed skin of my neck.The unmistakable copper stench of fresh blood immediately fills my nostrils and my scream dies in a choked gasp.I open my eyes, blindly wiping a trembling hand across my face to clear my vision.My palm comes away dripping in dark, hot crimson.The massive wolf isn’t tearing into my chest.It crashes heavily onto the earth beside me, its towering wall of silver-grey fur convulsing in violent, erratic spasms.A deep, jagged gash splits its throat entirely open, hot blood bubbling out in fr
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-THREE: The Russian Wilderness
The bruised purple of the twilight bleeds out into an absolute, suffocating blackness that presses against my chest.It’s night time.I stand frozen against the rough bark of the birch tree, my chest heaving, listening to the dead silence that follows the disappearance of the mare.The sound of her frantic hooves has completely dissolved.“Konstantin!”I scream his name until my throat scratches raw, tearing out of my lungs and immediately getting swallowed by the dense canopy above.No voice answers, not even the rustle of his horse, Z’ver.Nothing but the rhythmic, agonizingly steady chirp of crickets mocking my isolation.Where the hell am I?I touch my side, my fingers immediately sinking into something warm and uncomfortably slick.My shirt is glued to my skin.The fall from the saddle didn’t just bruise my ribs, it completely split the whip wounds across my back.The deep, jagged tracks Sofia left on my skin are weeping fresh blood, the heat of it contrasting violently against t
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-TWO: Where Am I?
I don’t think twice about it, adjusting my grip on the reins.“Race you to the other side of the forest! Last one there has to eat Leonid’s leftover vegetables!” Leonid yells, already scrambling onto his pony with the practiced ease of a kid who grew up in the saddle.He digs his small boots into the pony’s sides, and the animal bolts toward the tree line, leaving a cloud of dust behind.“Leonid, wait!” I call out, but he’s already a streak of brown against the green.I look at the grey mare, then up at the high stirrup.My back flares with a sharp, blinding heat as I try to lift my leg to reach the stirrup.The whip wounds from last night stretch to their absolute limit, threatening to rip open right through my clothes.I freeze, a small, involuntary gasp catching in my throat.Before I can figure out how to climb up without pulling my flesh apart, two massive hands clamp firmly around my waist.Konstantin stands right behind me. His grip is ironclad, lifting my entire weight off the
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-ONE: Goodluck
I don’t pull my hands away from the stallion’s neck, mostly because my fingers are locked into the coarse, black hair, and partly because if I move, the stretched skin across my shoulder blades will tear open completely.The dry blood from last night’s welts feels like tight papier-mâché against my spine, ready to crack at the slightest sudden shift.So, I stay exactly where I am, plastered against a beast that could crush my chest with a single kick, looking back at my husband.Konstantin steps into the stall with the unbothered grace of a man who owns every square inch of earth he steps on.The charcoal wool of his suit jacket shifts over his broad shoulders.He stops just inches away, the scent of expensive cedarwood cologne mixed with the sharp, earthy tang of the stables hitting my nose.“You’re never this obedient to anyone else, are you, Z’ver?” Konstantin murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine.His deep voice vibrates in the small space, low and rough, sending a sudden spike of
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY: Nickname
I know what it’s like to be trapped in a cage, hurting so badly you want to scream, while everyone looks at you and only sees a weapon.I take a slow breath, expanding my lungs carefully to minimize the sting in my back, and walk toward the reinforced steel gates of the corner stall.The stallion’s ears twitch instantly.He lifts his head, his wild eyes locking onto me as he lets out a defensive, raspy snort, his muscles tensing as if he’s preparing to charge the bars.“Easy,” I whisper, my voice dropping into a soft, melodic purr.I don’t stop walking, but I move with complete, fluid grace, keeping my hands low and visible.“Easy, boy. I’m not going to hurt you. Look at me. I’m tiny. You could crush me with one hoof if you wanted to.”I reach the gate and slowly slide the heavy iron bolt open.The metal screeches softly, and the stallion takes a sharp step back, baring his teeth.My heart is beating so loud I can hear it in my ears, but I force myself to step inside the stall, closin
Her Neglected Scars FORTY: She Planned It
I say sorry.That’s the first thing I do. The words come out before my brain even catches up. “Sorry, excuse me, I’m so sorry,” and I’m already moving, already pulling my dress back into place with fingers that are completely, totally steady, because they have to be. Because the alternative is let
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-NINE: Galina, The Seamstress
The thing about almost-things is that they’re worse than nothing.Nothing, you can handle. Nothing is familiar. Nothing is just Tuesday in the Morozov estate, same as every other Tuesday—cold floors, colder people, and me pretending I don’t notice either. But almost-things? Almost-things leave a r
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-SEVEN: Ugly Caricatures
The fireworks are still cracking in the sky behind me, but the world’s gone dim.It’s as someone shoved me out of the spotlight mid-scene. And handed Irene the mic.She stumbles closer, all dainty steps and calculated breathlessness, clutching her phone like it’s her grandma’s ashes.“I was feeling
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-SIX: Carnival Rides
The car ride feels like getting shoved between a live wire and a ticking time bomb. Leonid’s on my left, fidgeting like he’s got caffeine for blood.Konstantin’s on my right, legs spread, arms crossed, brooding like he’s plotting world domination—or someone’s death. Probably mine.I reach for the w
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