Two hands, one reaching, one receiving.
Between them lies a fracture  thin, imperfect, alive.
It’s not a wound anymore; it’s a memory carved in skin.
A line that divides yet connects  pain and growth, loss and becoming.

Above it, the crown and symbols whisper of alignment
a map of experiences, each mark a coordinate in one’s journey.
The scar becomes sacred  proof that even broken things can heal beautifully.

In beige, the tone feels warm and human.
It strips away the coldness of revenge and reveals the emotion beneath it
acceptance, reflection, and the quiet realization
that healing itself is a form of vengeance.

“Every scar is a sentence in the story of who we became.”