Painted Scars Novels & Stories

He shook his head in regret and gazed at the floor. "You are speaking in riddles, I can hardly understand what you are talking about. If this is your way of trying to get away from the punishment, you are sorely mistaken, you will be-" A ripping sound took over the cavernous hall as the man took a hold of his cloak and tore it into two, showcasing his naked chest. There were blue and gold cross cross marks all across it, some lumpier than others, tendrils of scarred skin stretched, like twines across it. At first, it seemed like they were scars, but on closer inspection, the so- called scars took up intricate designs and swirls. Ridges formed in certain places, while in others, it thinned ou

The two classes I skipped were with him, so I hadn't seen him all day. After school, I went to paint with others, and they actually enjoyed the stuff we got at the mall. One used glitter to make a snow sparkle, another placed small gems, instead of painting them and made it look crazy realistic. Some electric colors that I bought made Daphne's northern lights look just amazing. I was glad about my purchase, and it gained me some respect from others in the project.

Skyla's hand fled to her chest when she had a glimpse of his fully naked upper body. His body was badly bruised and had scars all over it! Skyla exclaimed, "I thought one deep scar might be responsible for all of this…" With that she lifted her eyes to gape at his blood covering the ground before getting back her gaze at his chest and then his abs. She continued in her mind, "But there are scars all over his body! It's impossible for me to conceal all of them! This doesn't look like an animal attack! I don't see any person would have done this much harm to me after all he seems strong enough to face whatever comes his way!" Skyla's eyes got teary and her heart got heavy on seeing the amount

I can’t help but ask, as the marks that seemed to be welted on her skin were so visible, and too severe to be ignored. Scar turned to look down at her body before looking right back at me. “Maybe you should worry about yours first,” she says, her hand motioning towards my body. My brows creased tighter. What was she talking about? I thought when I drop my gaze down my stomach and thighs, I let out a gasp. Shocked, I couldn’t move or say anything until Scar broke her silence. “Those are infidelity marks,” she says, and I look up, blinking at her. “They occur when your mate is being unfaithful. More will appear in the future,”

I worry I’ll wear these scars forever. Stepping out of the shower, I wipe the condensation from the mirror and freeze. A mark lingers on my neck, darker and more stubborn than the others. Deep red, tinged with purple. My fingers press against it, watching the color blanch before seeping back into its original hue. A pleasurable tingle ripples down my spine. That’s new. Is this one different from the others? It reminds me of the one Braden has on his ribs but I thought that was a birthmark. I'm sure I haven't always had this here ... Have I?

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.

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.

I guess that’s why I have my scar, a reminder of the fact that I’ll never be as strong as I need to be. As strong as I want to be. Maybe I deserve the scar…. I-i know I deserve my scar it’s all my fault. I… I need to search the body. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, collected the supplies and got to my feet, stumbling backwards as my backpack settled on my shoulders.

"Oh darling , when you say you see your scars in the mirror when you stare. I say, I see a warrior who fought her battles without fear. When you trace your skin and say it won't repair. I say a scarred tissue is stronger than a normal one without tear. And finally when you smile, to say you are are not like those beautiful girls anywhere. I smile to say my Scarred Beauty could never be compared." - suzangill ... Wear your battle scars, not as a flaw but an ornament. And see them shine even brighter than gold and diamonds. Mold your weaknesses into your strength, To become the best version of the scarred beauty of yourself.