Her Gifted Hands の小説・ストーリー

I scold her, but mostly because it scared me. "I couldn't help it. He was threatening us." "Okay, but what was with the glowy purple, burny hands thing?! That's not normal!" "Kas, we've been through this. We are a child of the Moon Goddess. We are special. The 'glowy purple, burny hands thing' is a gift from our mother. There is more, too. You will see after we shift for the first time. Until then, I'm not strong enough to show you. Besides, it isn't like I hurt him; his wolf will heal him before he is back in his office."

she breathed, her hands coming up to thread through his hair. He looked up, his gaze locking with hers. “You see my hands,” he said, holding one up between them. In the dim light, she could see the network of fine white scars, the knuckles that had been broken and re-set, the undeniable strength. “They are a monster’s hands. They have ended lives, broken alliances, built empires on ruin.” He lowered it, palm open, and slowly, slowly, laid it over her heart. His skin was warm, rough, infinitely gentle. “But they are also these hands. And they are yours. To soothe. To protect. To worship.”

Years of missed milestones compressed into a single gesture. "Thank you," I repeated, taking the flowers. Their familiar scent brought an unwelcome wave of nostalgia. Hunter stood slightly behind Mason's wheelchair, fidgeting with a gift bag. Unlike his brothers, he seemed unable to meet my eyes directly. With visibly trembling hands, he reached into the bag and withdrew several sparkling healing gems—premium quality, the kind that were increasingly rare—and a bright red hand-knitted scarf. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, staring at the ground. "We've... owed you for so long."

His gifts had always made me cry so I nodded my head in No. I didn't want his gift but I couldn't deny him. "Are you saying No?" He said and my tears slipped from my eyes. I hated him. "Show me your hands" He said and I put the basket down. I slowly put my hands forward because there was no way I could tell him No. I closed my eyes ready to talk about the pain he was going to give me. He put something in my hands. It was heavy. I opened my eyes. I was shocked to see the thing in my hands.

"I love flowers, every single one that you hand me," she murmured, her voice soft and tender as she held his hands in hers. Her eyes traced over the rough, calloused skin, noticing the patches of red and white hair that lightly dusted the back of his hands. These hands, so strong and masculine, bore the marks of yesterday’s incident—small wounds that had yet to heal. As she looked at them, her heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed by the intensity of emotions they stirred within her.

The version of him in the memory, declaring with absolute conviction: "When I'm healed, you'll be the first person I recognize." The memory cut to the night before the Healer came. He was holding my hand, swearing solemnly to mark me. Promising we'd be together forever. The memory zoomed in on the hands that had cared for him all along. Those hands were noticeably smaller than Vivienne's. The fingertips had small, rough calluses — the kind you only got from years of gathering herbs in the wild. Vivienne had been pampered her entire life. She could never have had hands like that.

She proudly holds up her left hand, little fingers splayed. “And so brave too. I bet you’ll be a warrior one day,” Edric says and reaches under the tree, taking one of the boxes out and handing it to her. Gillian claps her little hands and lifts the top off the box. She pulls out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a ball. I’ve never seen a child so happy over such a simple gift. She throws her arms around Edric’s neck. “Brand new? Just for me?”

"Magic hands." Gareth didn't linger on the compliment. He walked back to the trunk, his movements fluid and purposeful. He reached for my suitcase—the one that had nearly snapped my wrist earlier—and hoisted it with his right hand. The muscles in his forearm corded beneath the skin, the veins on the back of his hand standing out in sharp relief under the amber glow of the streetlamp. He carried it as if it were a hollow cardboard box, his stride steady as he walked into the small yard.

"A gift?" Arthur questioned. "What gift?" "Gift. It means it will be a surprise." She replied looking into his deep grey eyes. He nodded, curious to know what she would gift him. But the situation might not come because his mother is not going to be there. He was just teasing her. "Okay, deal!" He gave his hand for handshake. Arabella shook hand with him and noticed how strong and large his hand is compared to her. "Am I missing something here?" Their head snapped towards the door where Oliver was standing.

Suddenly, Linux whispered in excitement, "Hilda, this is a gift from mom and me. I hope that you'll like it. Here, feel it." He grabbed her hand in a gesture for her to feel the present. For some reason, there was complete silence around her and the rowdy crowd suddenly kept quiet.