Same Face Syndrome Novels & Stories

"The doctor said that the main nerve in my face is torn, and I might get facial paralysis, with crooked eyes and a twisted mouth. These side effects could happen. What should I do? Dad, is this retribution?" "We made Patrick disfigured, and now my own face is ruined." She couldn’t believe it. That single punch had turned into her nightmare. Jordan’s eyes darkened with murderous intent. "Don’t worry, Lydia. Daddy will find Samantha and have her treat you. Your face will be fine." Samantha had an incredible talent in medicine, and even the most complicated conditions could be easily treated by her. "Samantha?" Lydia wiped away her tears. If she could be cured, she wouldn’t worry.

One was short and squat, built like a fire hydrant, with inflamed lesions on his face and arms. The man to his right was his opposite, rail-thin sallow skin stretched over a skeletal face, his lips compressed in a grimace of pain. The man in front of the "fire hydrant" could be a model, golden brown skin, a face that made angels cry, and the eyes of a predator.

Overcome with regret and fury, he raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. “Look at what you’ve done, Claire! Didn’t you say those were just superficial injuries and that she was faking the pain? No wonder she coughed up so much blood. It was a ruptured spleen! If you hadn’t misled me, I would’ve taken her to the hospital!” For once, Mom didn’t argue back. She simply held her cheek in silence because no one knew better than her where those injuries had come from. She shook her head weakly, as if all the strength had been drained from her body.

The heat of him crept through my sleeve, and his scent- warm, clean, like cedar and soap and something I couldn't name- pulled me into a spiral. "You sure," he murmured, "you don't like this?" My breath caught. I didn't look at him- I couldn't. My scarf shielded most of my face, but I knew my eyes had already betrayed me. Wide. Glued to the desk. Frozen. He shifted just a little closer, and I could feel the heat of his mouth behind the fabric that guarded my disfigurement. "Maybe..." he said, his voice lower now, almost velvet, almost wicked, "maybe you like the way I make you nervous."

The face was wrong. He understood this before he could have articulated why he understood it, some prior visual cognition that registered the wrongness before it resolved into analysis. The face was assembled correctly, the proportions were correct, the features did what faces did, but there was a quality to it that was slightly adjacent to itself, the specific quality of a structure that has been altered and has healed into the alteration and has become its own thing but carries, somewhere in the healed scar tissue, the memory of a different configuration. It was not a face that had aged normally. It was a face that had been remade and then had aged, which was a different thing, and the dif

“Check out this guy’s side profile —Ethan Prescott.” I leaned in closer, squinting at the image. There was something about his features that seemed oddly familiar, but I couldn't place it. Still, it was strange that I seemed to find him familiar, considering the fact that I suffered from face blindness, or prosopagnosia. It was a condition that made it difficult for me to recognize faces, even those of people I’ve met countless times. Yet, something about his expression—perhaps the way he carried himself or the emotions in his eyes—seemed to reach out to me.

She took off her mask, and the smile on the doctor's face gradually froze. "You..." Yasmine raised her hand and touched her face, "What happened to me?" "I needed to touch it with my hand," the doctor exclaimed with excitement. Yasmine nodded, "Okay." The doctor began to feel the bones and, after diagnosis, she said, "You have never had plastic surgery, your face is completely natural. But is it really possible to find people who look exactly the same in this world?" "Exactly the same?" Yasmine asked, puzzled. "Yeah, you and the former president of the Maddox Group, Russell's wife, looked exactly the same before!"

“ Well sir……um……….his condition is different….yes, his own is mild, yeah, a mild prosopanatio…” “ Prosopagnosia”, the old man corrected. “ Yes, yes, his own is mild, that is why he can recognize faces if he sees them in person but cannot recognize them in pictures”, I said, hoping that I just didn't out myself. “ Well, okay, if that is the case, lets head to the morgue”, he said, getting up from his armchair. “ Oh, thank you sir”, I said as we all followed him out of the office.

Those eyes reminded her of everything brown — the coffee. Crinkles usually formed underneath and beside his eyes whenever he cackled. Those crinkles got her thinking if he was older than he looked, because, asides the crinkles, his porcelain skin always shone with youthfulness and vibrance, the kind of vibrance that radiated from a healthy teenager. " ... want some berries?" Dr Jake offered her a bowl of red berries. Rosaleen gave a soft, close-tipped smile which the young man couldn't discern if it was an approval.

Tessa closed her eyes, as soon as her face came in front of her, there was no trace of Mandy on her face. "It disgusts you right?" Tessa shook her head and then hugged her as soon as she heard her say that, one side of her face was badly damaged and the other was like surgery was carried out on her but not probably, leaving her with a completely disfigured face and a strange one from Mandy. "I didn't say so." Tessa manages to say as soon as she pulls from the hug.