Prologue

I remember my mother once tried explaining to me how the world wanted to be beautiful - women all wanted flawless skin and perfect hair. That was how they could tell if they were pretty enough. As if it was who they were instead of just a costume they put on.

I didn't tell Brusk anything, but secretly, I missed my scars. They were a part of me. I'm glad I still have the dimple in my cheek - Justin always loved to tease me about it. But the complex network of scars are missing. It won't ever be the same. They are replaced by a smooth, boring blank slate of skin that I don't want to look at anymore.

If this is what it means to be beautiful, then I would rather be real.