n the days that followed, Seraphina barely left her chambers. She would stare at her reflection, at the ugly symbol marring her skin, a

e cold metal to her skin, right over the withered flower. If she could just cut it out, carve away the tainted flesh,

e tip into her skin, a

lady,

snatched the letter opener from her hand.

Clara pleaded, her voice tre

ly. "There are other ways, my lady. I know of an old herbalist in the city. He has... potions

ound that had healed. This mark was a wound that

all vial that smelled of acid and bitter herbs. The ins

o bear alone. She gritted her teeth, uncorked the vi

h a piece of cloth, biting down so hard she tasted blood. She writhed on the floor, sweat beading on her forehead, her entire body convulsing with agony. The

she looked. The mark was gone, replaced by a raw, weeping woun

sing day. When she could finally walk without doubling over in pain, she dressed in her finest gown, one of an immaculate whit

preparations for some event. He saw her comi

ere?" he asked, his v

gown, revealing the angry red scar on her shoulder. "It' s gone, Valerius," she said

adable for a moment. She held her breath, pray

und. "You think that changes anything? A scar

red like glass.

was offensive. He looked at her, at her pale face and the desperate h

is voice flat and devoid of any emotion.

hysical blow. Isabella. Her cousin. A w

he whispered, her

urned away from her, a gesture of complete dismissal.

s nothing compared to the gaping wound he had just torn open in her chest. She watched him go, the pristine white of her dress fee