Lingering Glance (Patreon)

There's a green, mud-like substance staining half of your face. 

Your eyebrows shoot up and only now do you notice how it pulls on your skin with every minuscule movement. The balm that woman, Salina, unceremoniously splashed over your wound. 

1) You frown. You've forgotten about that.

2) You tilt your chin up, smiling with the free side of your mouth. "I look like a freak."

3) You gingerly touch it. Did it have any effect? Did it heal you?

4) Your eyes go from the balm to the ones in your reflection's face. And for a moment, for a heartbeat, you can't look away. 

- - - 

2) Your mouth quirks to the right side, a smirk growing where your cheek isn't splattered by what conspicuously looks like a special kind of puke. Tilting your chin towards the lantern's glow, you watch your face for a while. 

And then a chuckle opens a new crack on the balm. "Rafael was right, that damned bastard," you mutter, fingertips carefully touching the edge. 

It has completely dried by now, the salve sitting like caked stone on your skin, but the truth is that you don't feel any pain at all. Salina was an odd one, for sure, but maybe she knew what she was doing. One fact remains, however. 

"I look like a freak."

*if Self_Conscious

Your own voice accuses you, and your smirk widens, but your eyes suddenly harden. A freak. Heat climbs up your neck as you remember how the cut sat on your face, how much you hated seeing it there. 

This balm is far from a pleasant sight, but at least it hides the true problem. The scar on your face. 

*if Not_Self_Conscious

Your voice is laced with another chuckle. A freak. You suppose you've been called worst things before. You don't care about a scar, but you have the feeling that walking around with a green splash on your face might attract some attention, even more than what your charm naturally draws. 

-

Salina warned you not to wash the balm away too soon, but you eye the bowl of water on the table.