X Scars Novels & Stories

The Adversary Dark Prince (POV) When people notice the jagged scar on my arm, their eyes often widen with worry, and they jump to conclusions that are far from the truth. It's a common reaction, especially in a world where scars usually hint at pain or violence. But this scar tells a different story—it's not a sign of suffering; it's a symbol of something beautiful and meaningful in my life. Each curve and line of the scar represents resilience and a deep bond that has lasted through challenges, showing that not all scars are reminders of hurt. Instead, it reminds me of love and the strength I've gained along my journey.

He insisted. She hesitated, “Xandar,” she began, clearly not used with this manner of addressing the King, “A scar is normal among warriors, more so among Gammas. If you check the bodies of the other Gammas here today, you’ll find that many of them have scars as well. Some may be worse than mine. I know a few Alphas and a handful of Lunas who have such scars from fighting alongside their pack. This really isn’t a big deal.”

“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.”

Flora was contemplating. She was aware that if she let the guide help her apply the sunscreen lotions on her back, he would see the ugly scar she had from a flat iron Lambert had once pressed on her. It had been years, but the scar it left would still be visible. It hurt like hell during those times as she had no one to help her. She couldn't reach the spot with her hands to apply meds on it, so the scar it left was quite noticeable with the shape of a flat iron that the edges of the scar now have fibrous connective tissues. With the healthy pink skin tone that Flora has, the scar was visible and easy to identify what caused the burn.

They kindly informed me that Elsa liked to wear jasmine-scented perfume because that was Xavier's favorite scent. Xavier had a ghastly scar that was about eight inches on his leg. But every time I asked about it, he refused to tell me how he got it. When I got home, I sprayed on the jasmine perfume I had just bought and coaxed Xavier into drinking with me. Usually, he ignored me when he came home, but this time, he surprisingly agreed. I got Xavier drunk and asked him about the scar.

"There is a large letter X mark on your left cheek, Arielle. Who was the heartless person who did this to you?" Suddenly she was startled to hear what Kim said. There was an X-shaped scar on her left cheek. Her hand trembled as she touched her cheek. There was indeed a scar and even though she couldn't see it, her fingers could trace it, and Kim was right. There was an X-shaped mark carved on her cheek.

but then it all stops. Scars everywhere. Crisscrossing all over his back are so many scars. Some look fresh and others look old. One even looks like it's still bleeding but when I reach out to touch it, I don't feel any wetness. I see some on his arms, on the back of his neck... how many more does he have? I make him turn to face me and I gasp. Even more are on his chest and stomach. Tears come to my eyes and Skylar reaches out rubbing my cheek. "... Don't cry, Ebony." He murmurs. "I didn't mean to upset you... I'm sorry."

Mary groaned, slightly pissed off. “Sorry, sorry, let’s not talk about it anymore then… Plastic surgery has certainly advanced incredibly in recent years… I’m sure your skin will look as good as new again once you’re done with it.” “I’m aware of that. But for the time being, I’m still suffering, knowing the fact that I still have scars all over my body. It’s all because of Xyla.” Mary hated Xyla with every fiber of her body. If she could, she would eat Xyla up and drain her of all her blood.

A look of… wonder. “You’re still here,” he said softly. His voice was rough from sleep, but clearer. Stronger. “I said I would be.” I straightened up, wincing as my muscles protested. He pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. The sheet pooled around his waist. He was still shirtless. The lines of his body were stark in the morning light—powerful, but marked with faint scars, with the evidence of a life lived hard. My gaze caught on one particularly old, silvery line across his ribs. Without thinking, I asked, “Where did you get that?”