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You noticing some of Binah’s scars while cuddling with her, before gently kissing them. Knowing that those scars, surely earned from past fearsome encounters (some of which may not be so pleasant to be reminded of), could never detract from her beauty in your mind, only add to it. You seeing those scars as beautiful — as works of art — and letting Binah know this.

(Sorry if this sounds a bit all over the place, I have been rotating this idea in my mind for the past few days and I must yell about it to someone who hopefully understands my Binah brainrot ugfyfugiig)

i understand.

it's not simply loving her scars. you do, of course. they're a part of her, just like your own cuts and bruises are a part of you. scars are normal and beautiful. it's about loving her, all of her. she presents the image of a near-infallible Patron Librarian, always calm and two steps ahead. only you know that she's just as torn and cracked as all the others, mended only by time and the soft care and love you've given her. she tells you about each scar you touch. from Abnormalities, accidents, spars, the few times she and Gebura glimpsed each other back in the facility. they make a spattering web across her skin, large gash wounds and tiny marks peppered over her hands. your fingers graze one on her torso and she stills

she remembers that blade. red and fleshy and covered with eyes. it hurt, when it happened. the one on her head hurt more, runs all the way around in a neat, violent circle. Binah's dark eyes close as you delicately brush over them both, her last remnants of an Arbiter. they're ugly, perhaps some of the only scars she holds no apathy towards. all her other marks from before are long gone, but these remain, perhaps as a cruel reminder of when she failed, of what she once was

"Could you still love me?" she murmurs. "Could you, knowing who I used to be? Knowing what I've done?"

your lips press gently against the faded lobotomy scars, and Binah's heart warms and slowly melts all over again