Painted Scars By Neva Altaj Mga Nobela at Kwento

Not only did silver give us physical pain, but it also made scars if it was exposed to our raw flesh. I knew without looking that my body was covered in thin white scars on my stomach and thick lash marks on my back. They were layered, they where interchangeable. My body was a canvas with pictures carved into my skin. Pictures, that when depicted, were the face of anguish. I was a painting titled ‘pain and suffering’. I was a collage of torture and tears. Yet somehow I still had life left in me. And I had to revenge.

One was in the bathtub and the others were assisting her in her bath. Agnes silently let them scrub her back and wash her body. She sat in the bathtub without moving and letting them do their work. After a while, they made her stand and dressed her up. She felt like she was in an 80's movie that features the life of royalty. Agnes watched her bare self in the reflection of the mirror. The scars that fade away was now replaced by a new and fresh one. Her eyes wandered around her body until they found the oldest one near her stomach.

I ordered the attendant to take off the sheets as I drew out my phone to take quick pictures of the scratches, scars, and marks that were still faint like cuts on different parts of her skin. As I was about to leave, the attendant called my attention to a scar I didn't even notice settled on her tummy. That scar was strange in its appearance, but I'm not in the right frame of mind to start dissolving that mystery yet, so I took a quick photo shot of it and then left the morgue. By the time we returned to the car, I dropped my head on the steering wheel as the emotions all crashed down on me. I didn't even realize I had been holding my breath up until then, until Renz spoke.

Scar walked over to Cindy's bed,her eyes warm,you would swear she's different from the person who pushed her down,two storey building. “Cindy my friend,how are you feeling” She asked warmly, sitting beside her. Scar was pleased by the sight before her,from the cast on her neck,her left leg hung on a sling,and right hand hung on her neck. Cindy scoffed at the pretense. “I'm good ,I'm still alive,when there's life, there's hope” Cindy answered with a smile on her face. “I brought fruits for you,heard it helps the body heal fast”

Robert shrugs, his smile never fading. "Good to know," Robert says, walking back toward the line of competitors. "Look who decided to join the gallery," Novalee whispers, nodding toward the northern archway. Nina steps into the sunlight, a heavy leather-bound ledger tucked against her chest. The thin, jagged scars across her cheek catch the light, turning a dark purple in the midday heat. "She looks different," I say, watching her eyes track the movement of the clouds. "The puppet spell always leaves a scar on the mind," Novalee says. "She will spend the rest of her days looking through a cracked window."

Where pain once ruled, hope now reigned. Isabella had returned to painting, inspired by the Holy Spirit. Her studio buzzed with life as she created vibrant expressions of divine encounters. Her first post-scandal gallery, titled Redeemed, sold out within days, the proceeds donated to shelters and healing ministries. Meanwhile, Arthur expanded the foundation they started together. A new wing was dedicated to trauma recovery and support for women who had faced abuse in the Church. The altar they once burned—once symbolic of their sin—had become a beacon of transformation and grace.

She stepped down from the car, looking around, she asked him for her friend's Tina and Bella, he ignored her. “Come on,” he held out his hand towards her. She held a deep breath, a moment of silence stretched between them, as they walked into the church. Aria revealed her eyes by lowering her sunglasses very slowly. People gasped when they recognized her. Their stares pierced through her like she was being stabbed. Despite the stares, Aria maintained her composure and walked forward with raised chin. Her damaged skin showed both an unnatural color and an unbalanced texture. Aria showed her original beauty on one side of her face but the other side revealed the permanent marks of her nightmar

she shrugged inwardly. It wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before… Ugh. There goes my dirty mind again… “I haven’t seen that movie,” he said gruffly. “So I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She grinned wider. “It would be an honor if you could paint me like Jack Dawson painted Rose DeWitt Bukater. I suggest you watch the movie and let me know what you think. I’m willing to pay, whatever the price.”

The alpine air was sharp and quiet the next morning, as if the mountains themselves held their breath. Elena stood on the edge of the cliff behind the safehouse, staring out over the valley blanketed in pristine snow. The wind tugged at her coat and hair, but she didn’t move. She held the photo of Lucian Monroe in one hand, the edges already worn from handling it all night. She’d memorized every scar on his face, every shadow in his eyes. The same eyes her brother had once shared with her—before everything was taken.

At this moment, I was standing on high scaffolding, coloring a medieval oil painting. My foot slipped. Cassian blurred into an afterimage and caught me securely in his arms. This was the third time this week. "It seems I shouldn't let you touch such high murals," he chuckled softly, carrying me safely to the ground. His eyes fell on the two terrifying scars on my wrists, and his gaze darkened. I smiled bitterly, not trying to hide them. "A parting gift from my ex-husband. A masterpiece of his cruelty. It's hideous, isn't it?"