Contrary to all who knew him, his name was not "Scar". He only got his scar from his brother when they were tussling about. His brother had apologized. That much he remembered. He only kept the name "Scar" because it gave his brother the twinge of guilt in his shoulder and the apologetic simper in his eyes.
If he loved, he loved himself. But he loved naught. Even looking at his own face made him sick with anger. Then he turned his face and hated everyone else.
Zira pressed her face against his and said, "I will share your shame." He gave her no reply.
Mufasa shone. It was as if the land shed light on his being. Radiant and bright, Mufasa was benevolent and kind. Scar always watched. Studied. When he learned the breath of light upon the land, he retreated to the Shadowlands. He blended in well.
Scar despised hyenas. The hyenas despised lions. They were easy to mold because they hated and hated together.
When he first met Simba, the cub was curled up next to his mother's feet. His eyes were wide and never-ending. And upon his brow, was the same touch of light that lived in his father. Scar bowed his head and slunk away. The cub followed him into the shadows, bright and earnest. The beginnings of a plan unfurled with his grin.
Rafiki once said that he darkened the very ground he walked on. Scar replied dryly that they were in a forest and he should be careful what he said to the king's brother. Rafiki laughed and stroked his beard and said, "You will never be king."
Scar was glad to note that the stupid baboon was wrong.
It was Sarabi who held her head high, who never stopped her disdainful looks, who never bowed her head. He never punished her greatly. She was his now. Not Mufasa's. Her scorn, her pain, her pride was his to own. Scar would never let her go.
and it will never stop playing in his head, the little corner he left to Mufasa where Scar killed him, his memory, his son, his wife and his light, over and over again.