Peerless Scarred 소설 & 이야기

Aiden looks like he might be sick, while Jasper and Marcus both look pissed. I turn back to Zahra just as she stands up straight, and I finally see what they’re staring at. Her back is covered in angry red and white scars, crisscrossing into a horrible lattice over her skin. My stomach churns at the sight. I knew her father had hurt her, but this is the first time I’m seeing the damage with my own eyes. I watch the realization dawn in her expression, and the look on her face nearly breaks me. Stepping forward, I try to ease her anxiety, wanting to brush this off for her sake. “Hey, little one. It’s good to see you enjoying yourself after this morning. How are you feeling?”

she said, glancing at me, “if you could heal someone that is close to death… maybe you can fix scars too.” The room quieted just a little. I followed her gaze and realized what she was talking about. My scar. The old burn mark that curved down from the corner of my jaw to my neck—a part of my past I had tried to hide but couldn’t erase. I instinctively reached up, fingers brushing the edge of it. I hated that thing. I hated what it reminded me of. Rachael tilted her head. “I’m just saying… wouldn’t it be kind of amazing if you could heal yourself too?”

Gently, slowly, he guided her hand up and down her body, ran their fingers along each and every scar. He left the largest one for last, knowing that this was the one that frightened and disgusted her the most. That asshole had sliced her from her breastbone straight down the middle of her body, all the way to her navel. The scar was thick and raised, an angry, vivid purple, and every time she looked at it, she remembered how terrified she had been at that moment. She'd truly thought he was going to gut her like a fish; she'd thought she was going to die.

He replied, short and to the point. I hated how my eyes stayed glued to his body when he tugged his shirt off, showing off the rippled sculpture of his muscles. Scars littered his skin, proof of his fight to rise to the top. I wondered how he earned some of them, particularly the scar that spread from his left peck to his hip line in a clean diagonal.

Scars stared at the pillow in front of him. “Are you in pain?” she said. “Do you need something? Should I get a doctor?” “No, baby,” he said, and suddenly, it was Scars again, and she almost sagged in relief. “I’m not in pain.” “OK so…” She stroked his face. “You OK? All things considered?” “Well. I mean, I’m obviously devastated about the fresh scars ending my promising modelling career,” Scars said. “But I’ll get past it. Somehow.”

Her cleavage and the top of her soft bosom was exposed too. Her pale skin contrasted starkly with the raised, pinkish scar tissue that disrupted its smooth appearance. The scar was unsightly. It had become a hypertrophic scar that marred Millie's otherwise flawless skin. Pierce didn't feel any form of lust or desire at that moment. His heart simply ached at the sight. They had thought that they would be able to ruin Wanda completely this time. But unexpectedly, she and Stefan still didn't get divorced. Pierce stared at the wound that he'd inflicted on Millie.

I corrected, and let the scarf fall off my shoulder enough to remind him I know how to wear beauty and threat in the same line. The first three came dirty, which I expected, and quiet, which pleased me. Men who mouth off in the first ten minutes don’t know how to live through a second hour. Scar’s shift stuck in his hands—claws that wouldn’t fully retract so he kept cutting himself when he tried to button his jacket. Lina had an ear half-healed in a way that told me she’d ripped it in a chain-link fence and no one had taught her how to make the change slow enough to finish the repair. Hobb twitched when he heard the river, because defective wolves always think moving water is laughter when i

They’re not gone. I can feel them, out there in the wounded dark. The Consensus, a flickering, troubled diamond, its perfect logic still scratching at the unsolvable paradox we fed it, licking its wounds. The Wild Gardener, a tangle of broken thorns and muted fury, coiled back in the chaotic edges, nursing its rage. The escaped concepts, scattered like shrapnel, embedding themselves in the fabric of distant realities, little seeds of future trouble. The Scar… the Scar just is. A quiet, hungry mouth. They are wounded. Humbled. But not defeated. Never defeated.

She had grown into a breathtaking woman, more stunning than even he could have imagined her. And he had done just that. For years after he did what he did, he had kept away from her, while simultaneously fighting the urge to see her again. Curiosity was a painful thing to endure, and he kept wondering what she would look like now, and whether anything would change over the years. Time healed all wounds, and he had hoped that the scar he left on her would have healed by then. Wounds heal, but scars remain with us for life. "Look at you," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "You look even more beautiful than I remember."

Leon was standing still but his eyes are sharp and active, ready to shoot anything that moves. Agnes didn't dare. She didn't move and stood still while her pale face was illuminated by the moon's mocking light. She was disheveled, far from the gracious and precious image that she carried for almost 19 years. Her red hair was like a bird's nest with blades of green grasses and dirt on top of it. She has a small wound on her pale cheeks, corner of her right eye, and lips and they were bleeding. The red blood slid down slowly on her face, painting it red.