Erin Moriarty Ruined Her Face Novels & Stories

or was it that Mystique's vision in the morning was actually worse than she thought? A widely grinning Damien and a guilty-looking Mystique as soon as he Damien finished explaining who she thought was a robber. But now that she thought of it, she didn't look like a robber and When Mystique caught her, she was drinking out from a bottle. The contriteness took another level. "Oh my God, am so sorry" she immediately apologized. The young lady with a bleeding face glared at her attacker. "Sorry?, You destroyed my beautiful face" Damien rolled his eyes. "Stop being histrionic, Harriet. Your boyfriend is a doctor, he will be able to treat your face"

For someone who showed no prospects, Lucian moved faster than us. "Okay," she said with a smile, and I sighed with relief. I did not know I was holding my breath. I felt like a teenager again. I handed her the shot of vodka, and we clinked glasses before we swallowed the content. I saw Scarlett shudder. The three of us began to laugh at her reaction. I wondered why we were too blind to see her innocence. It was there, it had always been there, but our stupidity, rage and mistrust had blinded us completely. The first impression mattered, and we had screwed it up so much that removing the haunted look in Scarlett's eyes would take a miracle. I knew we put it there. We had done the complete opp

The betrayal, the horrible things those rogues did to me. The sound of their voices, smell, the awful feeling of their sweety dirty bodies crashing into mine. How they bite me over my mate mark. My arms, inner thighs, breasts, and how they laughed. Their groans and grunts. Everything would haunt me forever. I chose the second one. Now I’m a tall, dark beauty. My eyes are hazel brown, and my hair is almost black. I’m no longer naïve. No more will I be a fool. Never would anyone keep me in the dark. I’m Mallory, and I remember everything.

Traumatized in both body and mind, she never recovered after returning to her hometown. As her hometown was conservative in its values, she was met with harsh judgment once word spread that she had been pregnant out of wedlock and abandoned by a wealthy man. Even her family treated her as a disgrace. She later married a local widower with a violent temper. Their life was turbulent, and she was often seen with bruises. The once bright and lively woman was gone. Though still in her twenties, she looked a decade older. She was worn down by hardship. It was said she often stared blankly at a cheap gold-plated bracelet and absentmindedly rubbed it. It was as if she recalled a fleeting illusion of

“But your face is so swollen, and your eyes are puffy too.” She didn’t dare say it aloud, but Adriana looked as if she’d been disfigured. “It will go down.” After finishing the IV drip and looking in the mirror, Adriana realized she’d been far too optimistic. Morgan’s shoe had packed a serious punch. Her face was covered in bruises, with several deep red marks left behind. Her forehead had a gash, thickly coated with iodine. Her face was more colorful than a painter’s palette. Great. Now she couldn’t face anyone.

Alex Brown sat in his chair for a while and went into the emergency room, Marisa Darcyhad awakened. Because of the injuries to her face and legs, the originally exquisite and beautiful had become ugly. Marisa Miller's eyes flashed and she covered her injured cheeks with both hands: "Alex , don't look at me."

“That’s good. I’m glad she’s alright.” Feeling the heat being sucked from the room and suddenly replaced by the icy wind outside, Haldir looked over his shoulder to see Mory closing the door behind her. Pete put out another cup on the bar and filled it. “So, what’s the verdict then Mory?” As the clean scent of bergamot and lavender gently made its way to her nose, Mory took off her hat and gloves then sat beside Haldir. It reminded her of the Irish Spring soap her parents used to buy when she was little, and it suddenly swept her back to her mother’s dinner table on Sunday evening. “Broken hip. She’s on her way to the mainland to have it repaired as we speak.”

He looked like he was solving a problem he had already anticipated. “You have faced enough humiliation to last a month, Miss Moretti,” he said calmly. “Walking out into the street looking like a broken doll would have only fed the gossip. I am doing your reputation a favor.” I ignored him and moved toward the bathroom. The moment I saw my reflection in the massive, gold-rimmed mirror, I stopped dead. I looked like a disaster. My hair was a tangled mess of dark knots and a white bandage sat starkly against my forehead. My ivory silk dress was stained with blood and dirt. It was ruined beyond any hope of saving.

Changing into the dress given to them, she walked out of the fitting room as if she hadn't read his text at all. Meanwhile in another fitting room, Morgan’s expression was dark as she started blow-drying her hair after washing them. When that banner collapsed earlier, Morgan stood right in front of it, hence affected by that all the most. The dirt and the shatters of the banner were all over her, ruining her makeup and also her delicate skin. She clenched her fists and wanted to scream. There were some bruises on her neck and face which she had to cover them with a thick layer of concealer. "It was all that bitch's fault!" Morgan muttered, blaming it all on Ericka without hesitation.

It was normally cluttered with her skincare products, jewelry boxes, and a few framed photos of them together. Now, the surface was completely bare. No, not completely. In the center of the polished wood sat a photograph and a folded piece of white paper. Dante picked up the photo, and his pupils contracted. It was a close-up of Alessia's collarbone. Where the Moretti family crest had been, there was now only a faint, white scar. The tattoo had been completely removed. The skin had healed, but the scar was a silent declaration—Dante Moretti had been permanently erased from her body.