After dinner, Lyre applies the scar cream to my back, apparently unfazed by the raised blemishes on my skin. The emollient is cool at first, but slowly begins to burn.
"Give it about thirty minutes," Lyre says, screwing the lid back onto the ointment jar. "Just lay there. It's going to hurt for a bit, but the pain will disappear soon."
Grunting, I shove up onto my elbows, looking at her over my shoulder. "Are you sure it's safe? It's burning my skin."
"Its effectiveness comes with a price." She tosses the jar next to me. "Trust me. In half an hour, your scars will be a memory. Just don't touch it."
Fiddling with the remote, I nod. "Got it." Thankfully, with access to this back living room, I have the daybed to lie on and TV to watch, so I won't be bored. Even if it is awkward to be topless around someone who's essentially a stranger.
