Peerless Scarred Novels & Stories

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?”

“Garrick’s order still stands. Break the scar. Not the people. We are four. We do not clear that bowl.” I kept my eyes on the thread. It was small, but it was growing in little jumps. Not steady. Like someone feeding it. “Can you see the scrap,” I asked. Pell squinted. “Something in the cut. Thin. Pale. Not the full slab. It is enough.” Ronan’s voice stayed low. “Do not stare at it too long. That is how it gets a hook in.” “It already has a hook in,” I said. “It is in my arm.”

He took a box beside the stuffed toy. “This is the ring that I bought after finishing an assignment in Sibayan. I still remember how it brought me excitement and joy when I purchased it.” His eyes were smiling as he reminisced the scene. He carefully opened the small box, there revealed a yellow gold ring adorned with a fully grown flower situated in the middle. It was so pretty. It matches perfectly to a young woman like her. “I have no idea that I couldn't give this to you. Instead, this is what I recieved.” Her orbs stared at a certain scar engraved on his arm. It was a long mark. A very apparent one at that. Just as she thought, written on his arm was her name. “But I'm here, Miguel. Yo

"I heard your little outburst about your taste in men. Men with scars on their neck, huh?" He tilted his head, deliberately showing his scar to her. Linessa laughed. "It's pretty..." She told him. "But you don't suit my taste." "And why is that?" "You're marked...you have a mate and perhaps even a kid. Go home to them."

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.