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Summary
With a tremor threatening to shake his body, he slips his fingers under the edge of his shirt sleeve and pulls it up to his elbow. His soulmark is laid bare before your eyes. The wound that he had left in his own skin when he had tried to carve out the design has faded to a raised, pale line.
“That wasn’t there before,” you murmur, taking his forearm in your hands. Your pointer finger traces over the scar.