Lia
Lia walked with her hair covering the left side of her face. Always. The scar started at her temple and cut down to her jaw — pale, jagged, impossible to miss when the wind blew. Monster. Burnt. That’s what they called her in the hallways, in the CR, in the group chats she wasn’t part of. By 2nd year high school, she’d learned the rules: Back seat. Eyes down. Mouth shut. Feel nothing. She was the girl with the burnt face. The one who stopped crying in Grade 7. The one who forgot what her own laugh sounded like. Because if you felt nothing, they couldn’t take anything from you. And Lia had nothing left to give.
About Lia
Lia walked with her hair covering the left side of her face. Always. The scar started at her temple and cut down to her jaw — pale, jagged, impossible to miss when the wind blew. Monster. Burnt. That’s what they called her in the hallways, in the CR, in the group chats she wasn’t part of. By 2nd year high school, she’d learned the rules: ...Read more