Mark Of The Fool นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“No Mark, never. I was kinda drunk earlier, so I mistakenly dialed him. He rushed over to me, he was just there to pick me up, nothing more.” “Ouuu that was one hell of a lie.” The small voice loving rent free at the back of my head mocked me. Well I learnt from the best. “Does it look like I have ‘FOOL’ stamped on my forehead!” He asked, using his index finger to point to his forehead. “Mark, what are you talking about? Of course it's not like that, do not read it the wrong way.” “Am I supposed to believe what you're telling me? That he's just here to pick you up? You're not even drunk!”

I have to know if she's starting to remember. Then I see her reach for her shoulder, and I know. The mark. The one from her dream. It's real, and it's hurting her. My fault. Everything is my fault. "Does it hurt?" I ask before I can stop myself. The fear in her eyes when she realizes I know about it nearly breaks me. I've scared her. The last thing I ever wanted to do was scare her. I leave before I can make it worse, but not before telling her I'll see her tonight. At the party. Because Marcus is right—contact means consequences. But I've already made contact. The damage is done.

It was what had been done to them. Each one had a red "X" slashed across it. Some with marker. Some with lipstick. Thick, deliberate strokes. As if someone had taken great satisfaction in defacing every single one of them. And not one was left untouched. I blinked, lips parting slightly as a chill ran down my arms. I forced myself to look away. That wasn’t what I came for. Not now. That was a question for another time. Right now, I needed to find proof something to confirm whether this woman had been poisoning my father. And why.

What's shocking is, all of the testimonies he was reporting were from people who had past connections with him. People are crazy about his video blogs , and interviews with the people who claims to have experienced being molested by Fowler inside his private room. Based on the latest interview he had with some of the victims, Rudy Fowler approach his victims with charm, gaining their trust, just like all other doctors like him would do. Then, when the patient already trust him, he would begin the session, secretly touching them in parts that no one should. "This Bartholomew Carter is really making money out of his video blogs. What I don't understand is how he manage to get these kinds of in

The screen pinged again, displaying a message from an encrypted source. I clicked it open. It was a photo of Jeffery unconscious and tied to a chair. And below it, a single line of text: “You disavowed the crown. So now we wear it.”

"Mom, what's the elite school you mentioned before? Yeah, I'm going alone." The wind chimes rang out, crisp and joyful, like they were cheering me on. I closed my eyes, and for the first time in years, Shane's face didn't haunt me. Instead, I saw a guy who looked a little like him. Sharper and more striking, he flashed a cocky grin, just like he did two years ago. "Mark my words, Alice. You'll ditch Shane for me." Back then, I thought he was just messing around. Now I was done with Shane.

His fingers were cool as he swept my hair away from the left side of my neck, baring the skin to him. I stiffened, suddenly self-conscious. I knew what he was looking at. The mark. The ugly mark that Kendrick had claimed was a 'soul-bond' mark, but which I now knew was a fake, a brand used to tether me to a lie. The man’s breath hitched. His thumb traced the edge of the mark, and I felt a wave of cold fury radiating off him. He wasn't just looking at it; he looked like he wanted to tear it off my skin.

He let out an exhausted breath when he didn't find any mark here. Mate mark and true mark are two different marks, even a blind person would know the difference. “I'm sorry….I deserve death. I brought the wrong person!”. Blade apologized as he dropped to his knees immediately. Thank goodness. I have hope of escaping this, at least I have proved myself useless. “I'm sorry if I disappointed you ….I was never born with the true mark. It was stolen You've been misled”. I said, ignoring the pregnant tension that had enveloped the dangerous woods.

The Montague medical pods had fixed his flesh, but the Fae rot still lingered in his eyes, a silver fog that made him look older than the city itself. "I have to hide the Mark, Nomo. If it flares now, Zilo will find us in seconds. I’m not going back to that cellar," Sofia said, her fingers digging into the hilt of her silver dagger. She felt the Cursed Blood Mark on her chest pulsing, a rhythmic, hot throb that demanded she surrender. It wasn't just a wound anymore; it was a beckoning.

I had been able to see the labels above people's heads ever since I was little. When I was three, my grandpa held a family dinner at his house. Dad showed up with his secretary, Vivian Clarke. The moment she walked through the door, she went straight to Mom's seat. She rubbed her lower back and smiled sweetly. "Mrs. Lincoln, I hope you don't mind. Mr. Lincoln and I have been working on a project all day, and we're exhausted." I looked around the room. Above Eric's head was a glaring label. "Cheater." Above Mom's head was a dull gray label. "Loser." And above Vivian's head was a brightly shining label. "Ultimate gold digger." I immediately tugged on Eric's sleeve and asked loudly, "Dad, what