Painted Scars Novels & Stories

Poppy gently pulls me to a chair. “Such pretty hair,” she mutters as she starts working with it. She is gentle and doesn’t pull on it. She puts my hair into a simple updo bun. It is not slick, but still curly. I like it because it's simple. “Alright, makeup.” She gets in front of me. “I’ll keep it simple and clean. Just enhance your natural beauty.” “Natural beauty? With these scars?” “These are an indication of what you’ve survived. They mean you’re a warrior. I have my own scars, and I never cover them. I wear them with pride because I overcame it all. You should too,” she says.

My skin, luminous and as pale as the moon. His fingers skim my collarbone, leaving a flutter of sparks as he moves my hair to hang down my back. I see it. two black puncture scars with beautiful and intricate black vines, with flowers and what looks like ivy leaves. It trails from the punctures down my side and over my new and improved curves. It weaves around my leg like a snake and stops on my foot.

I turned to him fully, forgetting I was bare, forgetting everything except the raw truth in his voice. “You really see me like that?” I asked, small and wondering. “Not broken? Not… tainted by everything that happened before?” His hand rose slowly, paint-smudged fingers cupping my jaw, thumb stroking my cheekbone. “You were never broken, little moon. You were bent—by cruel hands, by a world that didn’t deserve you—and you still grew toward the light. That’s not damage. That’s strength. And every mark on you—” His gaze dropped to the faint silver lash scars across my ribs, the ones that had finally faded to soft lines. “—is proof you survived. I paint them because they’re part of the most bea

The Adversary Dark Prince (POV) When people notice the jagged scar on my arm, their eyes often widen with worry, and they jump to conclusions that are far from the truth. It's a common reaction, especially in a world where scars usually hint at pain or violence. But this scar tells a different story—it's not a sign of suffering; it's a symbol of something beautiful and meaningful in my life. Each curve and line of the scar represents resilience and a deep bond that has lasted through challenges, showing that not all scars are reminders of hurt. Instead, it reminds me of love and the strength I've gained along my journey.

But for now, I was going to enjoy this chaotic euphoric feeling flooding through me. I let him wash my hair, my head leaning into his hands as he takes care of me. When his hands skim across my chest, his eyes glow a spectacular ruinous black. His jaw tensing as his body starts to shake violently. I look down, his fingers lathering against three wounds…three scars. I hadn’t even noticed. Even with my wolf now, these won’t ever heal, these are like birth marks and I’m okay with that. But it seems to create a chemical reaction within him.

Nodding, Scar smirked, "Mark me, beautiful." The needle pierced Scar's skin repeatedly as Lani inked his skin. Her face was painted with concentration as she added detail to the beautiful design she was proud of creating. It looked exactly as it did in her head, she smiled as she wiped away excess ink. Scar watched her intently with his hand on her waist. She was perched on his hips claiming she needed a better angle, though, Scar wasn't complaining. Her hair was pinned back with flyaways falling in her angelic face whilst she sat in just Scar's shirt and her panties. This was the closest the pair had been regarding skin to skin contact, Scar swore he could feel her heartbeat with her that c

I laid my arm on the table. The scar ran from two inches below the elbow toward the wrist, not thin, not the thin line of a clean cut but the wider, raised record of broken glass, of a jagged edge, of something that had torn rather than cut. It was old. It was white now, the specific white of very old scar tissue, the color of something that had healed entirely on the surface and left its evidence beneath. I had not looked at it directly in a long time. I looked at it now. She looked at it.

“Rue, do not make fun of me.” “I am not making fun of you,” I said. “I am reminding you that you are still handsome even when you look awkward.” Percy looked away. His fingers moved close to the scars on his arm. I reached for his hand before he could hide them. “Do not look at them like that,” I said. He became quiet. “They are not pleasant to look at.” “They are part of you,” I said. “Some came from old injuries. Some came from the blood pact backlash. Some came because you suffered too much alone. I hate that you were hurt, but I do not hate your scars.”

"This place is all girly and it nauseates me" I bursted into laughter at what he said, I just really like the fact that he manages to make me happy. He held my hand and took me out of the room taking me to his own room where I was before. We entered and he sat me on the bed, he walked towards his table and then came back holding a round white cream jar stuff. I stared at it. "Whats that?". "It can help you take away those marks on you and heal your scars". "Reece ..".

And I knew he did this to represent my emotional state that day. I frowned, leaning in to take a closer look at this image of me sitting at the beach under a grey sky with an angry sea that threatened to burst past its banks. “Are those?” I stared at the very faint lip marks he had painted over my body. “Kisses,” he said, leaning down with his hands on the table to stare into my eyes. “I wanted to undo the scars, since I failed to do so in reality. “Thank you, Leonardo,” I said, pushing my seat back to stand up. “But I’m afraid I cannot accept this.”