Scars In The Hand Of Jesus Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Is your hand better?" "Well, no, it's crippled," he said flatly. My eyes widened in shock. My heart skipped a beat. "What?" "Well, not entirely," he added, staring at my terrified face. A tiny smile played on his lips. "But it left a scar." "Let me see it." I leaned in to look. Then, he opened his palm. A thick, dark mark ran right across his hand. It was the mark from the blade he caught for me. My eyes filled with tears.

Hands bled, but none of the boys complained. Because the cane was always waiting. Once again, I trail my fingers over Eve’s delicate script. Only this time I notice as well the faint crisscross of scars where the most minute strands had bitten into my fingers. It seems almost an abomination that hands such as mine will touch her. Not because of the scars, but because of what they had eventually become. Weapons used to do another’s bidding.

His right hand, the one that was trembling with anger. There were scars across it. Deep, ugly scars that looked like they'd been made by something sharp. Something that had cut right through to the bone. They were recent too. Still pink and raised, like they were only weeks old. "You're staring," Feign said, following my gaze. He held up his hand, showing me the damage more clearly. "Ugly, isn't it? I can barely look at it myself sometimes. Can barely use it properly anymore." I didn't understand. "What happened?"

He sobbed, my hands instinctively moved to his chest, as I tried my best to steady his erratic heartbeat. He gradually began to calm, and a wave of relief washed over me. for a split second, I had been terrified. His breathing evened out, and I continued to gently stroke his head, my eyes drifted to his hands which lay open on the bed. In the dim light, I noticed that his gloves were off, which revealed his hands. My gaze fell on the scars, they were like knife marks, harsh and deeply etched into his skin Such long, rugged lines that started from the base of his palms and extended to the tips of his fingers, he couldn’t have done it to himself? Whoever did had no mercy

He heard her voice almost whisper his name. He went to turn to see her but her hand was on his back. He felt finger tips trace over a long scar. He shut his eyes as she touched it, pulling his lower lip in as he did. The scar stretched from his upper right hand shoulder and made its way across his back. Her finger tips found a matching one and then another and then another. She traced them, her heart hurting for him as she did. The scars were old and faded but His skin flinched under her touch as if her touching the scars were still painful. She withdrew her hand, staring at his back. The more she looked the more scars she saw. “What did this to you?” Ariadne asked, her voice horrified.

It was almost like a healer was touching me, sending her magic through my veins but in this case, it was just Luca's gaze. Across his chin and cheeks was a light stubble, the blonde hairs sticking out only slightly to cast a small shadow over his face yet he still looked handsome. His long eyelashes seemed to go on forever as they gently rested against his cheekbones. Letting my eyes linger further down, I noticed a scar on his chest. The mark was large and looked angry as the dark reds and pink seemed to spread from the mark almost like a spider web. Without realising what I was doing my hand was placed over his mark, causing the small tingles.

under her breath. He watched as she sipped more enthusiastically than he'd ever seen her eat and in mere minutes, she'd emptied the cup. He stared at her hands clutching the empty cup. They were thin, almost wraith-like with tiny ivory scars littering her skin. He wasn't sure he'd seen any part of her body that was unscarred. Some were tiny, almost non-existent, some were large, glaring. He noticed the scars on her right hand were different from the ones on her left. "What happened to you?", He asked bluntly.

Tilted my face up toward his so I couldn't look away even if I wanted to. His thumb brushed across my jaw. Slow. Deliberate. The touch sends electricity racing across my skin. Then his other hand reached down and caught my wrist. He lifted my hand slowly, turning it over in his grip with careful precision. His eyes dropped to my palm. To the scar there. The burn mark from months ago. It had healed now, the angry red faded to pale pink. But it was still visible. Still there. Still marking my skin like a brand. His thumb traced over the scar tissue. Gentle. Almost reverent.

He pulled his right hand back, staring down at his palm with furrowed brows. "Kieran?" I asked, sitting up slightly and pulling the dark duvet to my chest. "What is it? Is something wrong?" Without a word, he turned his right hand toward me. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. Right in the center of his palm was a perfect, stark-white crescent scar. It looked as though it had been seared cleanly into his flesh by a silver blade. "What happened to your hand?" I whispered, gently reaching out to touch the edges of the mark. "Did you hurt yourself yesterday?"