Painted Scars By Neva Altaj Mga Nobela at Kwento

He takes Althea’s arm and presses the blade against her fair skin, leaving a line of blood behind. Althea flinches slightly, the drugs numbing her nervous system. “I love your fair skin. It’s so beautiful,” says Diaz, kissing the perfect skin before making another cut. “I won’t allow you to mark it any other way. All this...” says as he strokes her back over her gown, aiming for the whip scars adorning Althea’s skin.

He looks into the rearview mirror and asks, "Okay, ladies, where are we going first?" Jade sits forward a bit and says, "I think we will go to the day spa first..." I tense at the sound of that as no one other than Zachariah has seen or knows how bad the scars are that now pattern my skin both on my back and my abdomen, even after the healing cream Valentino's servants were using and then whatever Zachariah had his doctor or healer do they could not stop my skin from scaring. I move slightly closer to Jade and place my hand on her arm and whisper,

scrawled across a landscape. The next page was blank. But something was written there in a familiar, slashing script, fresh ink on the old paper. Her blood turned to ice. It was Kaelan’s handwriting. Now. It read: “You painted over the scar. I bought the original from Albrecht last year. It hangs in my study. The tear stain is the most honest part.” A wave of nausea hit her. He hadn’t just kept her trinkets. He was actively hunting down every artifact of her pain, buying them, preserving them. The violation was boundless.

Her eyes were moist as she was trying to fight back the burning tears in her eyes. The girl's small red lips quivered. Her left palm covered her face as she looked around in search of her mask. "We all have our scars" Alita whispered. The girl stopped, she looked deeply into Alita's eyes before letting her tears flow. A faint smile spread across her face as she removed the Hoodie from her head, exposing her long red hair. "You are beautiful" Alita gasped "Scars or no scars, you are the most beautiful person I have come across and I will never forget you" she beamed.

“Or something close to it.” She opened the door. We stepped into a narrow room, darker than the last. The air felt colder here. Heavier. Celia reached for the curtains again. Light filled the space. I froze. The walls were covered. Portraits. Of me. I took a step back, my breath shallow. “What is this?” Celia watched me carefully. “Look closely.” I did. The first painting showed a little girl with scraped knees and wild hair. I recognized the scar on her chin instantly. I had gotten it climbing the old watchtower near the southern barracks.

But they weren't wounds anymore. They were— Scars. They were beautiful. They were a network of faint, thin, silvery-white lines. They didn't pucker. They didn't pull. They weren't angry. They were like threads of moonlight had been stitched into my skin. Like a map of a river delta, drawn in silver ink. I reached back, over my shoulder, and touched one. The skin was smooth. Soft. It wasn't even tender. The balm. The Alpha's-Grade, private-stock, near-magical balm. It hadn't just healed me. It had remade me. It had taken the proof of my torture and turned it into—

She remembered being told that it wasn’t her fault. She remembered seeing a tall guy standing beside Jace’s grave, his back towards her. He was probably his younger brother whom she never had a chance to meet. She remembered everything. She looked down at the scar on her forearm, there were a few scars on her body that left marks. They reminded her of that horrible night. The one on her forehead was nearly invisible now, but the rest were the same. They didn’t hurt but the memories did, the nightmares did. Her older sister had been her support in all of this, her sister, her parents, Faith, and all her friends.

The warm water began to drip down my body, and I started singing to myself. I assure you, it's the best sensation in the entire world. Mina complained, "We still have to find our mate," and I sighed somewhat. "Could you give me a moment to rest? Do you believe I don't desire a Mate as well? However, do you know who our Mate is? Alpha Kian Santos is him. The scarred Alpha, the social outcast. Do you want us to be with him for the rest of our lives? I yelled as I turned off the water while banging on my tap.

No, scratch that, breathtaking. Honestly, I wasn't sure the word used to describe how pretty I looked had been invented yet. And yes, maybe that sounds a little too much but I really never thought I could see myself look this good. Ever. Alongside my makeup, she had done my hair too, and added a few touches to it. A huge chunk of my hair was intricately held back by a huge claw clip that apparently held the seal of the pack’s insignia, with the rest flowing on my back. Some intentional stray strands dangled and framed my cheeks.

"All my life, his shadow haunted me. Even now that he's gone, I still feel like he's lurking somewhere close-by, watching me with that murderous look in his eyes." "He hurt us both," Zainab said, sniffling. Her eyes returned to the painting, and she heaved a sigh. "You know what," Afrah said, "I think we can burn it now." Zainab carried the painting outside while Afrah fetched the matches. They stopped by the pool, and side by side they watched the canvas erupt in flames. It took less than a minute before everything had been reduced to ashes. Zainab turned to look at her. "I'm sorry," she said. "For everything I did to you."