'His scar,' Isadora thought as her body quivered. The realization struck her so hard that it propelled tears to her eyes.
All this time, she had felt that scar was a criminal brand or a warrior's.
But it was his doing, not by choice.
She couldn't even begin to speculate how much shame he would feel when he stared at himself every morning in the mirror, knowing he had imposed so much blight on his body.
No one wants to live with such a brand, knowing what caused it. And every waking moment was a reminder of his hell and doom.
It made her wonder why he escaped Daudi's Hand. Was his soul so restless? Burning with rage and the need for revenge? It had to be, and she couldn't envision the depths of his fury.
Isadora's breathing hitched, and she swallowed thickly. Her hands were placed together, gripping so hard that she felt her nails breaking her skin.
She closed her eyes, chest heaving. She mulled over the kind of atrocity he had gone through, just because he was different.
