Novel & Cerita Painted Scars By Neva Altaj

“ What is this scar? “ Slowly, he grazed his fingers across the scar. Jeane gasped, instantly frigid by his touch. “ How did you get this scar? “ Jeane felt his sudden masculine energy, strong and heavy masking behind her. “ I got scratched by the doorknob, trying to get in. “ She lied. It was actually an injury she recovered from trying to get into the forest bunker on one occasion of fleeing from loan sharks. “ What kind of doorknob would scar you this way? “ As he touched her scar, his touch got heavier. Jeane just hoped that he hadn't discovered that she told a lie. “ Why did it heal into a burnt mark? “ “ That is how my skin works, one of the negative traits I inherited from my father.

With her eyes resting on the fire, she use her nails to scratch the spot he ahd kissed and blood was forming on the red line her nails had continually and roughly dragged. A gently door losing behind her didn’t faze her one bit. She felt a shadow lingering behind her. “Thank you, Khalid. I didn’t think you would take such a long time to call Ambrose.” “He was asleep. No wolf like to be disturbed when he sleeps.” Zara smiled. She relax back on the chair and speak eerily. “Prepare the water. I want it to scorch me.” “Are you sure?” Khalid’s voice becomes sad. “His touch feels like thousands of insects are running down my body. I need to get it off me. I feel dirty.”

They would heal up; she had already been used to them anyway. With blood dripping from her open wounds and falling down on the strewn shards she noted that some glass pieces looked like rubies and grinning at her creation she picked up a particularly bigger piece leaving behind her previous weapon now that she had found a better one. Frolicking to the couch she stood up on it, staring at the painting of Alastor. She stretched out her hand to the further corner that she could reach and grinning she scratched right through the top and carved a cross on his face.

He raised a brow. "My eyes? What about them?" "They're no longer grey" I said and he threw me a questioning look. "They are not?" "They are indigo now. Do you feel any different?" I asked and his frown deepened. "There's a weird tingling feeling on my face" he stated and a gasp slipped out of my lips when I saw that the scar on his face was quickly fading away. "Oh my God" I breathed, my fingers brushing his scarless face. "Your scar is gone, Altan" I breathed and his eyes widened.

Like I said, I know that the scar doesn't deduct her beauty, but the look she has in her eyes as she looks at it says otherwise. I wish I knew how to make her love herself. I wish I knew how to make her stop looking at her scars as a disgusting reminder of her pain and I wish she would look at it as a badge that symbolizes her power of survival. Ella had helped me see that in myself. The ugly scars I have on my back used to make me hate my existence. But after seeing her painting with the dark butterfly with purple cuts on its wings, I couldn't help but see them as a trophy that showed my survival.

I crawled quietly out of the bag and rushed up to my room and got my makeup kit, I returned downstairs and they were still sleeping. I started first with Erick, I painted his cheeks with mascara and added lipstick on his lips messing up his face. I did same with Jack and Jace. And for Stacey creamy cheese on both her palms. I giggled and went to the kitchen. I filled a bucket with cold water and went back to them.

Her clothes were torn and there were claw marks and bite wounds all over her, the worst of which was a claw mark that traveled from her left collarbone to her right hip. Luckily it didn’t appear too deep, and someone had soaked it with a herb poultice, as if to help it heal. " I will help you." Scar said as she muttered some words placing her hand on the wound , she looked at it but her chants weren't doing justice. She repeated again and again before Hazel told her to stop

**Elara Falls Ill** The once-bustling den of the pack, a place of laughter and camaraderie, had transformed into a sanctuary of despair, shrouded in a somber stillness that was almost palpable. In the heart of this space, nestled among the softest of grasses and verdant leaves, lay Elara, the pack's esteemed healer—her presence a calming beacon now muted by the grasp of illness. A heavy silence enveloped the den, punctuated only by her shallow, labored breaths and the anxious shuffling of her companions, Caden and Lily, who were desperately trying to provide solace during this harrowing time.

Before, I had forgiven him time and time again, driven by both my love for him and my gratitude to him for saving my life. But now, staring at my bloodied hands, broken and unrecognizable, I cried and laughed, my emotions in turmoil. When I was six, my father had an affair and abandoned me and my mother. The betrayal devastated my mother, and she cut herself because she couldn't bear the pain of his departure. Her depression, coupled with the scars on her hands, led her to abandon her dream of playing the piano. But one day, after hearing me play, my mother's eyes lit up. She found renewed hope.

Elena winced. "Ow, my head," she groaned in pain as she looked around. Where was she? She looked around again. It was wide room with small windows covered by dirty curtains, making it suffocating. The paint on the wall was faded, different stains and marks plastered to it. There was a wooden table and chair at the corner of the room, several empty crates, bottles and cigarettes box laying carelessly around. It looked like an old abandoned room.