Stars And Scars Novels & Stories

“You’re ours, just as we are yours,” Kallen moved my hair behind my head, making a makeshift bun when I saw what he meant. I gasped as I leaned closer to the mirror. On each side of my neck there were two scars, they looked like a crescent moon with a shade of black. And… I loved them. Something about the marks made me feel powerful and so beautiful.

“Not just good – amazing.” “One hundred percent amazing,” Jo said solemnly. “Thought so.” Scars held out a huge hand and she took it, felt the raised skin there. Without even looking, Jo knew that he had more scars on his hands and briefly wondered what he must look like under his jeans and blue t-shirt and cut: she’d heard from Jinx that the fire had burned Scars so badly, he’d needed reconstructive skin grafting on his back and legs. “It’s a pleasure, Jo.”

"You feel like you're floating, watching your body shake and cry on the floor... until they cut out half of your stomach." I looked at his suddenly pale face and asked in a soft voice, "How do you think I know all this so well?"

The girl in the mirror standing opposite me was a girl broken and recombined with the improper pieces. "Pathetic," I muttered to myself. And I grinned. Cold, empty thing that it was, with no regard for the girl that once was me. Because what I discovered, Jake and Cassandra didn't kill me. Victoria didn't, either. They just provided justification for waking the hell up. I removed my makeup and cotton brushes wiped away like discarding the old me. I looked again and caught sight of something new in my eyes. Peace of anger. Hunger. "No more tears," I told myself. "Time they're sorry for all of this."

For the first time in a long while, I felt completely hollow. And he just turned away. --- Alaina’s POV The rumors about the Moonridge Pack spread like wildfire—ugly, exaggerated, and merciless. Yet somehow, instead of pity, the world’s sympathy seemed to tilt toward me. Members of the Blackwood Pack praised my calmness, my refusal to engage in the public spectacle. Their quiet loyalty warmed something deep inside me.

I held her by the throat tighter as I remembered how I spent over five days in the infirmary because of her and her childish jealousy. "So... Sorry." She managed to say but I brought out my makeshift knife and I tore her with it in the stomach. "Ahhhhhh." She screamed but I carried her towel that was drap over her shoulder and I shoved it in her mouth to muffle her screams. I tore her again on both of her laps. The cuts I gave her are not deep enough to make her bleed to death but the are certainly deep enough to give her an everlasting scar... Whenever she sees the scars on her stomach and thighs, it's will be a reminder of her stupidity.

I forgot. Miss, whoever she is, looked at me shockingly but there's a hint of familiarity and sadness in her eyes. As I stared at her, I realized she really looked so weird and no offense, ugly. There's a huge birthmark that covered her left forehead, down to her eye and her ear. There's also a huge mole on the lower right side of her mouth. To top everything off, she has a lot of pimples, acne scars and blackheads. This girl needs help.

"The sky is beautiful, isn't it?" Elena turned to look at Daniel, then the sky. It was a beautiful star studded night sky. "It is," she replied as she smiled on realizing they were still holding hands. The rooftop was truly calm. No people and the only source of light it got was from the stars and nearby street lights. "You said you had something to tell me," Elena said, a quizzical smile on her face. "I'm here, sooo." "You said you had something to say too."

He was walking beside me, clutching my belt loop with one hand and the hem of his father’s pants with the other, trying to help, trying to be brave. "I'm here, baby," I gritted out, my breath coming in harsh gasps. "Just... keep walking. Don't look back." I didn't want him to look back. I didn't want him to see the scars that now marred his father’s back. The shift had been violent, a desperate tearing of flesh and bone. The Star-Fang Dagger had burned away the infection, cauterizing the wounds, but the cosmetic damage was horrific. Thick, twisting ropes of white scar tissue now marred the black skin of his back and shoulders, permanent maps of the pain he had endured.

The silence that fell was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions too raw to articulate. I lowered myself further, my lips gently touching more of her scars, one by one, inch by inch. I kissed them as if they were not symbols of a tragic past, but instead, keys to a new beginning. Each kiss was a silent vow, a promise of acceptance and unwavering support. To the unbroken skin between the scars, I bestowed gentle kisses, as if to pay homage to the strength that had enabled her to survive. To the scars themselves, my lips delivered a tender message of acceptance, acknowledging the pain they represented while also honoring the resilience they embodied.