The Princess and the Pauper (Arabella) novel Chapter 1895

Serena nodded in agreement.

"Alright, take a break for now," Martin suggested, hoping to coax her into rest. But all of a sudden, Serena chimed in, "Martin, will this gash on my forehead leave a scar? What did the doctor say?"

She had banged her head on shards of broken glass, and the cut was undoubtedly deep.

Martin's gaze fell upon her forehead, which was usually smooth and fair but now appeared swollen, rough, and fierce. Still, his eyes softened as he spoke, "No matter what it takes, I'll make sure your forehead heals."

"Hand me the mirror," Serena said, sensing something was amiss and wanting to see for herself.

"It's late. We'll check it tomorrow."

Martin tried to sidestep her request, but that made Serena even more eager to see her own face. She remembered the coffee table that Kenneth had flipped in anger, the glass splinters that flew everywhere, even nicking her chin.

Now she could feel a slight pain in her chin.

"Please, just bring it to me!" Serena urged.

Reluctantly, Martin fetched a mirror for her.

With just one glance, Serena saw her forehead, rough and red with numerous uneven cuts - an ugly and ferocious sight that made her hand tremble, and the mirror dropped onto the blanket.

"Serena." Martin began, trying to offer comfort.

But Serena panicked, "My forehead, my face."

What had happened to her?

"It's okay, Serena, I don't mind." Martin feared she might lose all hope, his voice even more tender, "The doctor mentioned your forehead wound is deep, so it'll take some time to heal, but it's not beyond recovery."

"No, that's not it." Serena suddenly turned her attention to her hands, which were heavily bandaged and resembled a pair of bear paws.

When she had picked up the mirror, she distinctly felt a lack of strength in her hands, and her fingers were not as nimble as before.

She initially thought it was due to the bandages around her fingers.

But now, as she moved her fingers, once slender and delicate, they were scarred and clumsy, swollen. Indeed, not as agile as they used to be.

"Did I damage the tendons in my hands?" Serena asked fearfully, her eyes brimming with tears, "There were glass shards in my palms and on the backs of my hands, and they've been untreated for three days. Are my hands ruined?"

"Don't overthink it," Martin consoled her tenderly, "The doctor said you just can't play the piano for a few months, and your reactions won't be as quick. It'll all get better in time."