No Scars In Heaven Novels & Stories

“Let’s go get some food. Everyone has been worried about you all day. But before you go, I want you to look in the mirror. He says. I look at him confused, thinking maybe he is trying to tell me I look like crap. We get up, and I walk to the bathroom. I gasp when I look at myself in the mirror, my blue eyes are gone, replaced by two small moons. But it is not all. I run a finger over my neck and shoulder, then I remove my eyes from the mirror and look down at my arms and whatever I can see of my body. I take off the shirt someone, probably Aiden put on me. I gasp again and sob. My scars are gone, and not one single little one is visible. Aiden comes up behind me and smiles softly at me. “The

“I don’t…” “He’s burnin’, baby girl.” “No,” she said shaking her head, blank and dazed. An EMT appeared out of nowhere, gently lifted Keira out of her arms and started CPR, and she looked at him in confusion. “But…” That was when Scars began to scream. And Zoe knew, knew with everything that she had, that her beautiful, shining avenging angel had just had his wings burned right off him. He was on fire. ****

The silence that fell was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions too raw to articulate. I lowered myself further, my lips gently touching more of her scars, one by one, inch by inch. I kissed them as if they were not symbols of a tragic past, but instead, keys to a new beginning. Each kiss was a silent vow, a promise of acceptance and unwavering support. To the unbroken skin between the scars, I bestowed gentle kisses, as if to pay homage to the strength that had enabled her to survive. To the scars themselves, my lips delivered a tender message of acceptance, acknowledging the pain they represented while also honoring the resilience they embodied.

Thank the goddess. I slide my shirt up her body. Her hands come up to cover herself. I take them, gently moving them back to her sides. “Let me look at you.” “I have so many ugly scars.” “Didn’t I say that scars are a way to show that we are stronger than we know?” She nods. “Then let me see how strong my sweet little angel is.”

This time, it shouldn't be. She picked up the knife and cut it hard on the pale pink scar. Looking at the bright red blood from her thin wrist slowly flowing out, she has no pain, unlike in prison, the pain of her life and death. It turns out that when the heart dies, the body will lose consciousness. In this world, there is no longer anything she can miss. At least, there is a father in heaven and Zoba Baker. With her eyes wide open, her vision gradually became blurred, and her consciousness began to become unclear.

Not the patient counting ceiling cracks while pride rotted inside her ribs. “Don’t look so excited,” Mara muttered from the chair near the window, watching me like she could already see the trouble forming behind my eyes. “Healing doesn’t mean you’re invincible. Again.” I smirked. “Relax. I almost died once this month. That should count as character development.” Maya snorted under her breath, but she wasn’t smiling. Her gaze lingered on the thin silver lines scattered across my skin, scars that magic could not fully erase because they had been carved too deep. Some were old. Some were fresh and all of them were mine.

“You told me once you were addicted to my face. Said it was your drug. Well… it’s gone now. Just scars. So please—go find someone whole.” “I’m so sorry, Jake…” Ariana choked out. “Sorry?” I laughed bitterly, my head shaking. “I wish sorry could fix it.” And then—something warm touched me. A hand. Small. Soft. Real. It was Liz. I knew how her hands felt. “Jake…” Her voice was soft, trembling. Her eyes were dripping with tears, but she didn’t look away. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t disgusted. She was just… there. She touched my scars like they were nothing, tracing them without being disgusted.

There was no 'us' in our future - We didn't have a future. By the goddess of creation, he is beautiful. I think while my eyes stay locked on him. Maybe not in your traditional way, but still, Kian's body tells a story, his scars weren’t a disfigurement to me, they were him, his map of life, everywhere he had been and everything he had experienced. And to me, that was sexy as all get out.

"What is it? " he asks finally looking down at me. "Its... What is this? " I finally ask running my fingers over the scar Madre inflicted in me the day I got to the mansion with the hot metal. I watch a bitter smile crawl up his perfect face. "It's a name," he replies, and my brows furrow in confusion. "Name? " I ask. "The bible says we all have stones that would be given to us in heaven after death and on those stones lay our real names. Our heavenly names.

"Sorry, did I scare you? I promise, you'll never see scum like that around here again." To thank him, I accepted his invitation to an art exhibition at his private estate that weekend. On Saturday night, Dorian had a gift box delivered. Inside was a deep purple velvet gown. It was exquisitely tailored, with a high neck and long sleeves that perfectly concealed the old, fading scars on my body, while still accentuating my waist. I stroked the soft fabric, my eyes welling up. Gavin had traced my scars with sadness, but he was never this thoughtful. I never dared tell him how much they bothered me. It was a weakness the Godfather’s wife wasn't allowed to have.