Scars And Breakfast

As I toweled myself dry, I gritted my teeth in anger and retribution as I beheld the scars on my body; scars that had been left behind by Adam and his brothers.

They weren’t much, thanks to the wonderful medicines of Peter, but they were present on my skin, a reminder of what I had gone through.

Oh yes, I liked it to an extent. It would help me remember the atrocity the triplets had committed against me. It would help me never to forget their acts of wickedness. It would help me never to forgive them for their inhuman betrayal.

When I was done with drying myself up, I took up the clothes that Diana had left at the bed; and starting with the pants, which were black and stretchy, I got dressed.

They were okay. The big cloak—or was it a sweater? I was not sure—was okay. Good I had gotten used to wearing oversized shirts when I had been bullied at the pack.

Who would have believed that after the torment that Adam and his brother had put me through then, that I had still gone ahead to