Precious Scars Novels & Stories

He kisses my neck and shoulder before whispering, "I told you, you were beautiful..." "Zachariah..." My eyes go to the skin exposed near my chest as I continue, "M... M... My S... Sc... Sca... Scars... How can I be beautiful?" I can't stop the tears that slip from my eyes. He turns me to face him and places his hand on my cheek, wiping away the tears. "Yasmine, your scars add to your beauty. I don't even see them anymore... Please wear it for me?"

As the light faded, a sharp, sudden stingshot throughh thecentrer of my right hand. I pulled my hand back, frowning as I turned my palm upward in the moonlight. Right in the very center of my skin, burned in a faint, stark white, was a perfect, tiny crescent scar. It tingled with a lingering, magical heat. My chest heaved as I stared at it. I was right. This bond wasn't standard. It wasn't just a typical fated alignment. The silver light, the ancient voice she heard, and now this scar left on my flesh—it all meant something profound. Something special.

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.

, I came out of my car and I wasn’t surprised when Scarlett came out wearing a long face. “You bitch!” She said as she walked towards me. “Can we do this later, I got work. Thank you” I said dryly and made to enter my car but she was fast to touch me by my hand. I quickly removed her hand from my body like it was a plague and looked at her angrily. “Never in your life, I repeat, never touch me with that hand you uses to give my dad a hand job” Scarlett looked pretty embarrassed as I said that but she was quick to cover it up with a scoff.

I passed out naked, bloody, and alone but free; after ten years, I was free. I had just done the unthinkable. I completed the rejection ritual marking myself as a mate rejecter, a pariah in my community. I not only rejected my mate but my old pack. My whole identity to that point – was gone. I was now scarred, no longer marked. Now, I carry the black scar created by the silver blade, and I reject the mate made just for me by the goddess. The cursed life of a "Scarred One" is what I must look forward to now. The sense of loss was foreboding. Was what I lost the only cost for my freedom from my mate bond?

She watched as he frowned at the button , his chiseled face was like a sculpture, he had thick and roughly carved brows she felt like running her hands on them. He had a well carved beards which had evidence of not been shaved for a while, they where prickly but also tickled wherever his face brushed her arm. The lock of hair that had been on his forehead head was now brushing his eyes, Ann had the strongest urge to brush it from his eyes and indeed they did feel marvelously silky. Oh on! She had touched it, and now he was looking at her. But this time not only did he look frustrated, there was something else, it wasn't there before and it reminded her of the day at the library.

My hair is in its natural color, the strands fall over my shoulder, covering part of my breasts, my eyes are darker, they no longer look like just amethyst, but a purple agate, and my white skin is covered with scars. Scars that will never heal, because they are the memory that the Gods left me, as if what I had lived and seen would be forgotten. I am not a person who cares about scars, since I was a child I have carried them, but these... I hate them. They are not things I can be proud of. They weren't made for defending a loved one. They weren't made on an honorable battlefield... They are just petty and if you look closely you can see that they are divine souvenirs, just another way to le

Peggy had wrapped it so the water wouldn’t get in but she still was cautious of it. Stepping out of the water once she was done she pulled the curtain back and tried to reach the towel. As she did she realized some of the new scars that had formed. Walking up to a mirror she used a towel to clear it off and noticed all the new scars on top of the old ones. Tears began to form as they slid down her slightly wet cheeks. She couldn’t believe how ugly she was. Asrar was a beautiful man, a gorgeous dragon and here she is. The holy grail of scars. She was hideous.

"Be gentle." She found the end of the gauze strip. Keeping my gaze locked on her face, she carefully unwound it to eventually reveal the gruesomely shredded flesh that Seri—sweet, chaste Seri—had sworn loudly at. Gemma swore too, but in a mournful whisper. "Oh, Kael…" "Scars are badges of honor," I told her, my voice just as low. "They're beautiful and brave." Her eyes met mine. "Scars, Kael, not open wounds."

“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.”