Chapter 4: Scars and Silk

Still crying and making a scene, she lifted her head and stared straight at me.

A bluish birthmark sprawled across her broad, flat face; her features were crooked and her mouth askew; now her fine hair was disheveled, snot and tears streaming, a sight that made my stomach clench with a mix of pity and anger.

The sight was jarring, like something out of a midnight ghost story. Aubrey’s face was a map of old hurts, made worse by her tear-stained cheeks and wild hair. Even the sunlight filtering through the window seemed to shy away from her.

My little brother had once been so frightened by her that he cried incessantly and scolded her viciously as a hideous freak.

I remembered the day my little brother locked himself in the bathroom, refusing to come out until Aubrey left. Kids are brutally honest, and cruel in their immaturity; I wince now at how those words must have cut.

I had sternly disciplined my little brother, admonishing him not to judge people by their appearance.

I’d pulled him aside, told him real kindness meant looking past the surface. It was the kind of lesson you hope sticks, even as you catch him sneaking wary glances later.

But now, I stared at her face and laughed.

If Caleb knew that his so-called lifesaving benefactor looked like this, would he be scared into having nightmare after nightmare?

I snorted, a harsh sound in the quiet room—a brittle defense more than cruelty. A flicker of guilt pricked me even as the memory of his squeamishness around my scarred face came rushing back.

After all, back then I married him while bearing a disfigured face; at the beginning he didn't even dare approach me.

The first months were icy and awkward. Caleb avoided eye contact, slept on the couch, and flinched if I moved too fast.

Aubrey over there was still crying; I, however, flicked away her hand and slowly smoothed the skirt she'd scrunched.

"Cousin, if you must blame someone, blame Aunt; back then she just had to elope with a raven shifter, and thus implicated you into growing up like this."

My words poked at Aubrey's sore spot.

I did hate her.

In the last life, I pitied the various grievances she suffered because of her ugliness and readily gave her my own appearance.

But her?

Wearing my face, she impersonated my identity as the lifesaving benefactor.

Before she died she was still smug: "Cousin, I know I'm about to die, but if before dying I can still make you displeased, I'm very happy."

She wore a splendid wedding dress hastily woven by a thousand spider sprites and died, beautiful and moving, in front of Caleb.

Etching it into his bones and heart.

That scene haunted him, I know—Caleb clutching her hand as the silk, cold as water, whispered through his fingers. Her smile was the last thing he saw, burned into his memory like the last rays of a sunset.