Wound's Beauty

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  When her fingers toughed the skin under his bangs, the sensation already told her that something had happened to the skin there. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, as Edgar released her left hand. Awkwardly, she sat on his lap, straddling his legs while doing so. Edgar made no move to stop her, which wasn't surprising from (f/n)'s point of view. Still, he let her bring up her hands towards his face.

Resting her left hand on his right cheek, she used her right hand to carefully push back his bangs. Her fingers brushed against the damaged skin again, but she made no move to pull back. When she had his bangs behind his left ear, she turned her gaze towards the left side of his face. She ran her right thumb over the skin there, as she remained quiet.


Edgar just wanted her to say something; for once he couldn't tell what his muse was thinking. The only thing he knew was that she wasn't wearing a face of disgust. She would've pulled back by now. So, what was going through her head? Was she just too shocked to utter even one word? With her silence, he became even more worried that she would reject him because of his facial scars.


Still, it felt strange having someone other than him touch that part of his skin. The sensation was oddly comforting when it wasn't accompanied by a tinge of pain. Perhaps, it was because it felt as though she was accepting him even more, as her delicate fingers glided over his skin with a gentle touch. At same time, though, he didn't know if it was just her genuine curiosity that was keeping her from retching with revulsion.


"How did he do this to you, Edgar?" she inquired with a soft voice, as she removed her hands from his face.


He tried to read the emotions in her voice to see what would come as a result of showing her. The element of curiosity was clearly present, but he picked up potentially the notes of sadness and even hate. Had he planted the seed for loathing towards his brother in his beloved? If so, then he had truly benefited from letting her see the left side of his face.


Taking her right hand in his left, he rested her hand back on his left cheek and leaned into it, while his hand rested on top of hers. She blushed faintly at the intimate gesture, as he started to explain, "My brother and me were in the kitchen cooking spaghetti. I was eleven at the time, and my brother was fifteen. While we were cooking, it would seem that my brother thought to get back at me for the attention that our father was giving me. So, when I turned around to put the pasta in the boiling water, I found the pot removed and felt a hand on the back of my head. Before I could do anything, Frederic was holding my face up against the stove flame.


"I tried to turn off the stove, but he grabbed both my hands with his free hand. When he pulled my head back, he doused the flames with the boiling hot water. My screams alerted those in the house, but by the time anyone reached the kitchen, I was on the floor in too much pain to say anything. I was immediately taken to the hospital, as my brother told everyone that it was an accident and that I had tripped into the stove. My father didn't believe him, but he couldn't confirm his suspicions since I had passed out from the pain.


"Once everything had been settled in the hospital, our father entered the hospital room that I was in. Since we were the only two in there, he wanted me to confirm my brother's side of the story. I told my father that it was false and told him the truth of the situation. Frederic received the punishment of having to remain in his room for an entire year without ever coming out, since my father decided to let him continue on his path to taking over my father's job when the time came."

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