Novel & Cerita Scars In The Hand Of Jesus

Confusion etches upon my forehead in form of a frown. “ It heals scars. All kinds. ” She points toward my right wrist which is turning almost blue now. I look at my wrist and take the balm from her hand. She gives me a nod and walks out of the room, leaving me to stare at the balm. Scars. I look at my wrist, feeling like I can still smell my skin burning furiously. It was gruesome. Elijah is mad and now he has lost me so he is going to do something again soon. I have to find a way to put an end to his madness and cruelty.

There, I just thought it, and nothing happened. I reached out. I would only touch the tip, and then it wouldn't brand its impression into my flesh. My hand started shaking before it got within inches of it. Kaniji's hand had been smoking. My fingers had looked like sausages after touching silver for only a split second. I took a deep breath and pressed my finger against the crucifix before jerking it away. Zing! I jumped with a yelp. I gripped my hand and squeezed my finger. Wait a minute. The finger that touched the crucifix wasn't throbbing. The side of my pinky looked seared.

And why had he ordered the man to cease? Perhaps he wanted to question her a bit and then when she still didn't give him the answers that he so seeked, he would ask the man to press the button for the blade to cut her hand off completely? Her hand throbbed in pain and she wanted to look at it to know the extent of the damage, but she was too scared to look. What if a huge chunk of her hand had gone? Gods, she was going to scar. The Sorceri detested scars. A person with scars was considered less than perfect. Which was basically an abomination.

"Jaden..." "Please. The veil. Let me see." She hesitated. Her hand hovered, then slowly, she pulled it away. My breath hitched. I had seen her wounded before. But never like this. Along the sides of her temple, trailing down her neck and disappearing beneath her robes, were faded scars looking like rashes, angry, unnatural ones. I reached for her hand and pushed her sleeve up. More scars everywhere all over her body. Some of them are ancient. Branding marks, purplish and jaded.

He only stared at me, his silence louder than any roar, as though the truth was too dangerous to give voice to. While these thoughts ran through my head, i felt him grip my wrist as he raised my hand pointing it at a scar on his chest, it wasn't like the others, it was mich bigger and longer, i noticed it at the beginning but i didn't give it much thought then but this time my eyes traced it down, the scar had the same tone with his skin like it had been there for too long and was already fading but if you looked closely you could identify it as a claw mark.

I ask, scoffing. He reaches out, taking Clem’s hands and placing them palm up in his. Her hands are worse than his face and her neck combined. A portion of her hand is missing. Her fingers are deformed and jagged. The scars move up her arm, wrapping around her skin, cutting into it as if the scar tissue were a chain, binding her to him.

I admit. He leans forward and places his large hand over my hands. “Consider this one a freebie, since you technically could have asked a makkari to do this for you,” he smirks. He leans back taking his hand with him and my eyes widen in disbelief as I see the scars have vanished from my hands. I flip my hands over examining my wrists, my palms, my fingers, but there’s not a single scar to be seen and I feel such relief at the sight. I throw him a wide smile, “Thank you!... Um, how do I address you? Do I say ‘God’? ‘My Lord’? ‘Your Holiness’?” I ask embarrassingly.

He slowly takes my hand into his, his expression soft. "Just let me see." I say nothing, gazing at him. He trails his fingers on my knuckles, holding my hand lightly. There is something different about his touch. Or perhaps I haven't touched a boy since my last boyfriend. He washes my hand with water, brushing gently. I am watching the side of his face, which is clean shaved, smooth. His lips are hot, beautiful, full. I look down at his hand, something catches my eye. He has a long scar across the inside of his wrist. It seems like it was a deep scar, stabbed by knife. And it seems new.

’’ I asked with a smile, and leapt to my feet in a hurry to approach her. She walked towards me with a blank face, and without uttering a single word, she grabbed my left hand in hers, and opened my palm. My palm had a horrible scar that looked like the twisted body of a centipede. It was long and thin, and following an excessive amount of time spent submerged in water, the large blister began to tear. ‘‘I'm fine…’’ I mumbled shortly while attempting to get away from her grip on my hand, but she resisted my efforts and instead gazed up at me with fury evident in her eyes.

Some whispered while others murmured their suspicions as they watched from a fair distance. “That scar on your hand…” He dropped his eyes down to my hand hanging in the air. I looked at the tip of the scar that ran all the way up the middle of my chest. What was once a long and deep wound from my father’s beta’s weekly punishment session had turned into a gruesome scar no one dares to lay eyes on for more than a second.