“You will be able to see in this eye, though you were very lucky, because merely another breath closer, and you would have lost all vision on it. The wound will heal well despite how deep it is.” The physician tells us as he lightly taps around my forehead and down to my cheek. “But unfortunately, the scar is permanent.”
I did not know how to feel about that for a second.
The old part of me wants to break down, wallow in the permanent imperfection. But the new me, the better me, feels proud of the scar because it represents my freedom from my father and how imperfections doesn’t mean having scars.
Scars only added to perfection.
Like Dorian’s.
Like Damien’s.
Like mine.
Kim frowns at the physician. “That can’t be. Is there nothing we can do—?”
“It’s okay, Kim.” I said, waving awa
