𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐔𝐒

I. Scarred Past

CHAPTER ONE
NOTE: This BOOK is HEAVILY focused on emotion/ character, thus starts VERY slow. I am aware people don't enjoy slow books, but i think it helps form a connection with the characters, and story. do not worry, though. After chapter 13, the plot progresses much quicker. Also note, that chapters 1-9 were written MONTHS/ YEARS apart. my vision, and writing evolved, and shortened. please push through the unnecessary descriptions, and somewhat unrealistic dialogue. it will be changed, i promise.

    ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

TIME DID NOT HEAL ALL WOUNDS; Lilith Eliana Crowe knew this very well because she bore two reminders- the deep hollow in her chest and the scar on her right arm. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes and thought back to that May night, it felt as though the pointed blade was still tearing her skin open. She could feel the torturous drag of the blade from her forearm to her wrist, deliberate and agonizing and brutal, a perfect combination that called upon Death. She could still feel the warmth of her blood as it oozed from her ripped flesh, flowed down the length of her arm, in between her fingers, and to the ground in which an incarnadine river formed around her quivering body.

When she remembered this, it felt like she could not breathe; like her lungs had given up on her and collapsed within.

White light shone on her tense finger bones. Her hand had the appearance to that of a ghost, translucent and pale, as she gripped both sides of the washbasin. Her fingernails dug into the material- her hold firm, unyielding, afraid that if she were to let go, her knees would buckle, and her entire world would collapse. Nonetheless, she forced herself to stay upright and look past the sunspots dimming her eyesight.

To the best of her abilities, she looked at her arm through the reflection of the mirror. In it, staring back at her in the most taunting of way, was the scar tissue that ran raggedly across the plane of her flesh- where the tip of the blade had once traversed. It had not healed yet, the wound. It was still pink, still too raw, despite the three full moons that had risen and gone without compassion.

With a disheartened sigh, Lilith averted her gaze from the mirror. She could not bring herself to see the scar for more than a minute without reliving that night. No matter what she did, those images, those sounds, those smells were embedded in her troubled mind. By now, she had expected the memories to become shrouded- they always do with time, or so they had said-but they never did. She often wondered when the memories would dull and vanish from her brain. Lilith hoped that day would arrive soon. Instead of diminishing, they seemed to be infecting her brain, spreading everywhere like fire, the most vicious kind.

Although the voice was slurred, she could hear it from the other side of the bathroom door with painful clarity.

"Get out!" Her father yelled, the timbre of his voice cutting through the silence that fell upon the house and starling Lilith, if only for a minute.

Before she could blink, the doorknob began twisting and turning with such ferocity that the girl thought it might break and join the others. Knowing now that it was best to not keep her father waiting, Lilith rolled her long-sleeve down and placed a trembling hand on the doorknob, opening it slightly. Through the parted door, she caught a glimpse of Maxwell Crowe, his hard-stone eyes welling with something along the lines of hatred as he looked back at her.

"Did your feet stop working girl?" He sneered, the creases and folds on his forehead pronouncing themselves as he moved his face, a sign of old age and wear, for as it seemed, time had not been very kind to him.

Lilith kept her eyes to her feet and stayed silent. She began to move from the bathroom but gasped and lost her balance when her father pulled on her wrist.