He ran the length of his forefinger across his jaw. He wondered if they could see past it.

It made his bones unnaturally brittle. As a result, one of his fathers gentle attempts to calm a young Remy resulted in a fractured wrist. For seven months he couldn't use his right hand. The acid burnt the bonds between his bones faster than his body made them. A cast iron fitting would fix his hand in addition to making his right arm hang lower than his left. A radiating acid burn that spread across his arm would be a memento of the operation.

Still, he couldnt pick out the scar from the rest. His body was littered with them. Every cut, every bruise; Each drop of blood gave way to strips of scarred flesh as the disease slipped from its cage and looked for its next meal.

He would of been a handsome boy, not that one could note it now. He was missing patches of hair, his abdomen sunk in, his ribs held his skin taut as the disease took his muscle. Swelled purple and red splotches across his form resemble eternal bruises. His sweat smelled of gasoline. His veins glowed a vile brown, the color shining through his rough, stripped skin. His throat looked as if he'd swallowed shredded glass. He sounded like it too. It traveled there by means of his saliva. Say what you will about the disease, but damn was it creative. It managed to get just about everywhere. It would turn him mute and blind in time.

At least its wasn't there yet.

He reached for the tin container on his dresser. He ran the cotton pad across his face, laying a tan powder in its wake. He smoothed it with his finger best he could, softening the harsh scars across his neck. He pulled a linen hood over his head, covering the patches of missing hair. His eyes remained trained on his image in the dust ridden mirror.

How could they see past it,

He couldn't.