Hidden Scars Novels & Stories

~Zara’s POV~ I learned very quickly that surviving a whipping and surviving the days afterward were two very different things. The wounds had begun to scab over, knitting together in ugly red lines. Yet every twist of my torso, every reach for a heavy load, reignited the agony like fresh embers under my flesh. The scars would remain long after the open gashes closed—permanent reminders etched into my body, mapping out my defiance for all to see. Not that anyone cared. In this land of stone and secrets, sympathy was a luxury no one could afford.

His gaze is fiery and intense, yet strangely distant, and I know that somehow, he's staring at one of my ghost scars. Unlike the one over my ribcage, this scar is so faint and shallow that it's practically invisible. In fact, I have a couple like that, all over my body – on my back, my ankle, my wrist. It's no surprise really, considering the whirlwind of glass that I was swimming through when the bus went down. I think of these secret scars as invisible reminders, ghostly tokens, forgotten save for when I run my fingers over their indiscernible ridges just to check they're still there.

she finally declared, her voice steady despite the underlying uncertainty. With deliberate movements, she reached up and removed the veil that concealed her face. My breath caught in my throat as I beheld her true appearance. Sheila's facial scar twisted across her cheek like a dark, jagged river, its presence dominating her features with an undeniable rawness. Beneath it, her skin bore the marks of a tumultuous journey, contorted into ridges and valleys that spoke of pain and resilience.

They’re not gone. I can feel them, out there in the wounded dark. The Consensus, a flickering, troubled diamond, its perfect logic still scratching at the unsolvable paradox we fed it, licking its wounds. The Wild Gardener, a tangle of broken thorns and muted fury, coiled back in the chaotic edges, nursing its rage. The escaped concepts, scattered like shrapnel, embedding themselves in the fabric of distant realities, little seeds of future trouble. The Scar… the Scar just is. A quiet, hungry mouth. They are wounded. Humbled. But not defeated. Never defeated.

Rhea watches me, lips parted but she doesn’t say anything. She just turns and walks away. The scars don’t stop. Even after the oath fades, they keep growing, etching over my arms, my back and my chest. Silver and black, like ink carved into skin. The Moon Goddess’s judgment is final. I scream into the wind. “It wasn’t betrayal!” I shout to the sky. “It was desperation!” But the no one answers. The markings burn in time with my heartbeat. They don’t feel like punishment... they feel like truth now. Like everything I’ve buried is finally being seen. There’s no hiding now.

But it was her. I gently turned her right arm and ran my fingers along the pale scars. They stood out against her light skin, raised lines, like tiny ridges in soft clay, weaving and crossing, vanishing into the surface. She’d reopened them again and again, tearing out stitches or starting fresh. She had hidden it well, but once upon a time, we had shared that secret. “Need another look?” Raphael’s voice broke the silence. “Yes,” I said, my voice betraying me. It shook.

I’d been pushed against a stone wall; the mark had burned into my flesh, and later healed with the soft pink line that still held memories. But this morning, under the soft lantern light, I noticed something I’d missed before: a faint shimmer around the scar’s edge. A twist of silver light, as though magic still pulsed beneath the skin. My breath caught. I leaned in, heart pounding. I whispered to myself, “Impossible…” I dabbed the salve over the scar, but the shimmer remained, a heartbeat of light at the boundary of flesh. My fingers trembled. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and splashed cool water over my arm. The light winked out, leaving only the familiar pink line.

It was old, but the pain it must have caused was evident. "It must have hurt," I murmured, my fingers tracing the raised edges of the scar. His body tensed, a flicker of fear in his eyes. I just felt like I could connect with him so much after seeing this. His scar was physical, but my own scars, though invisible, ran just as deep. I bent my head, pressing a soft kiss against the scarred flesh, a silent apology for the pain he had endured.

" I scream! My hand shaking, there is a strange rush flowing through my veins and tightening my muscles, I can't explain it but all I know is that Dravem needs to get his hands off me!! I pushing him again but he had already gone down to the three buttons and the age of my bra is visible ...i shrink as I also realise that what else was visible ,the scar on my chest !, throughout my life I had tried my best to hide the scar, i didn't even like showing it to my parents ...kattt even saw it but it was an accident and now the asshole in front of me is staring at it he stops unbutton my shirt but doesn't remove his fingers from the fourth button, in fact he or undoed it so the shirt is open t

I held her by the throat tighter as I remembered how I spent over five days in the infirmary because of her and her childish jealousy. "So... Sorry." She managed to say but I brought out my makeshift knife and I tore her with it in the stomach. "Ahhhhhh." She screamed but I carried her towel that was drap over her shoulder and I shoved it in her mouth to muffle her screams. I tore her again on both of her laps. The cuts I gave her are not deep enough to make her bleed to death but the are certainly deep enough to give her an everlasting scar... Whenever she sees the scars on her stomach and thighs, it's will be a reminder of her stupidity.