Her fingers traced lightly over the scar on her right cheek.
It was an imperfect circle, there were small almost imperceptible peaks and valleys. It was a fresh scar that was still settling into a state of permanence. When she caught a glimpse of it in a mirror, it was confusing and alien. She had spent 47 years living without it.
Most people were far too polite to inquire how it had appeared where it once was not, and so it hung in the air like a great unspoken question mark.
Maybe it was always there, somewhere, lurking in the shadows waiting to emerge.
The deepest scars are mostly invisible.
Perhaps this one had been making its way to the surface for a number of years only to meet at the proper moment with an accidental external assault.
She traced, sighed, gazed and reflected on the subtle changes time was making to her countenance. The scar felt like a vulgar addition to an already fading canvas.
"I will learn to love you, scar." She announced resolutely.
She had no choice, so she did, in point of fact, learn to love it. It was a part of her now, after all.