Simon

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Isabelle's .P.O.V.

Now on the floor, beaten, cut, and bruised, I am alone. Exhausted, and hot, and try to move a limb, only to fail, and feel immense pain course through my arm. I look at my arm, only to have my deepest thought and fears, proved true. While cutting my arm, he seemed to cut a message. Although not so much a message, as just one word. One name. Simon. Now, a forever scar.

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