I’m honestly not aware of much as we fly to…wherever the hell we’re going. I mostly just concentrate on my mom’s warm presence at my side, and the soft murmuring things she says to me, even if I don’t know what they mean. Still, something about them dulls the gnawing ache in my heart.
An ache which seems to get bigger and bigger as the moments pass, like a cliff, or a quarry, with unsteady edges – my whole world threatening to just tilt in and smash to pieces at the bottom.
But my mom holds me together. I feel her healing magic sweep through me as she strokes my hair, feel her healing all the little cuts and bruises from the battlefield, the tiny scrapes and bumps. I only lift my head to stop her once, when the magic brushes against the cuts on my palms.
The ones Gibson left with that slash of his knife in the moments before he opened Tony’s throat.
“No, please,” I croak, shaking my head. “I need them – they’re all I have left –“
“Oh sugar,” mom whispers, stroking my cheek. “We all have to heal sometime.”
I nod, knowing she’s right. “Can you – can you not heal it smooth? Can you leave scars?”
“Yes, baby,” she whispers. “We’ll leave you the scars so your hands can always bear witness to what Tony gave for you. Okay? I promise.”
I nod, tears slipping down my cheeks.
“Now let me work, baby,” she whispers. I tuck my face back against her shoulder and sob as I feel her magic sweep over my palms, ending the physical pain but leaving so much behind.
Last of all she heals the mark on my neck, and as much as I know she tries to smooth it as best she can, I can feel it take shape into the other scar that I will bear forever.
The mark. Luca’s mark, which claimed me as his minutes before he rejected me.
I sob to feel it heal, not because it hurts but because…it’s a door closed. I’ll never not bear it. Every time I look in the mirror and see it I’ll remember that moment, that terrible mistake.
“Now now, baby,” mom murmurs, stroking her hand long over my back. “We’ll take it from here. You just let us help.”
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