An Eye for an Eye

"What is what?" Ercilia asked dumbly, pretending to be unaware of what Drystan was referring to.

His fingers trace the skin on her back, his expression grave serious. She can't stop herself from trembling, way too sensitive to his touch. The sensation feels strangely familiar, and it is with mortification that she realizes he's about to see everything.

The tips of his fingers follow the path of the scars inflicted on her by Vernadette – the one that had been etched deeply into her skin, the one that doctors have left stitched, the one she had been both curious and scared to see when the nurses replaced the bandages.

She remembers looking at the hideous thing in the mirror. She remembers trying desperately to reframe the scarlet letter.

It's horrendous. 

Jagged. Unclean. Slanting.

Drystan's gaze darkens. Ercilia keeps quiet.

'He must think I'm ugly.'