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Send me â&â for my museâs reaction to yours tracing one of their scars.
Molly wouldnât say she flinched at the contact, but there was no mistaking her surprise at the touch, at the gentleness of the action as he traced the silvery patch of skin.Â
It was one scar of many, but none of them held any painful memory, well no more than that of the action itself. All of her scars  were gained through the slip of the hand, a moment of carelessness, of playful escapades and adventures in the garden.Â
She smiled, it was small bittersweet one. Her scars may not hold any hidden horror, but some did ache.Â
âHaley and I thought it would be fun to sneak out one night and when we tried to climb the garden gate, I fell and my arm got wedged between the planks. There was this nail that was sticking out? And when I tried to pull my arm free it shredded my arm. Dad was not pleased.â she chucked softly, eyeing the puckered skin thoughtfully.Â














