Marking Books 소설 & 이야기

The Marked One. ​As I reached them, Noah placed a hand on the small of my back. It was a gesture of protection, but my heart told me otherwise. ​"Tonight, you the neighbors," Cassian whispered, leaning in as I stood between them. "Try not to look so much like a rabbit, little wolf." ​"Why am I here?" I hissed, my hand instinctively going to the collar of my gown to hide the mark. ​"It’s a celebration of strength, Aria," Noah answered, his voice smooth as silk but hard as the marble beneath us. "The Blackthorne Gala". Our allies have traveled far to witness the stability of the Blackthorne territory. Don’t embarrass us."

I don't answer. My room is exactly how I left it. Unmade bed. Half-empty coffee cup. Sketchbook open to a half-finished drawing of a wolf I don't remember drawing. I slam the door shut and press my back against it, sliding to the floor. My hands shake as I roll up my sleeve. The mark is still there. And for the first time, in the dim light, I realize It looks like a bite.

Lily The next morning, I wandered through Westvale like a woman between two worlds. The fire that erupted last night had left no scorch marks, no ash. But I felt its residue in my chest—like heat pressed into my ribs, like memory seared into my bones. I kept touching the mark on my palm, half-expecting it to fade. It didn’t. Marcy FaceTimed me. I answered with a shaky smile, propping the phone on a stack of old spellbooks. “I know you’re not crying over some old book,” she said, eyes squinting.

“It’s okay if we just use a smaller banquet hall. We don’t have to book the grandest one.” Ethan shook his head firmly. “No. Our marking ceremony has to be held in the biggest, most luxurious hall. You deserve the best.” Lyla smiled but quickly turned thoughtful. “Maybe we should postpone the marking ceremony. That day’s special for you and Maddie. I’ve already taken so much of your time. You should be with her.” Ethan paused before gently ruffling her hair. “There's no need to delay it. The ceremony will go on as planned. I’ll explain things to Maddie," he said calmly.

“You’re here early.” I lifted the book. “Jack had my notes again. It’s exactly why I have a key for his room.” “Seriously?” Mark narrowed his eyes, looking at me suspiciously. “The book is in my hand, isn’t it? Want me to take you up and show you how many of my damn books he has sitting on his desk?” I offered, pointing to the stairs more calmly than I feel. “It’s no big deal.” “Nah, you’re alright,” he replied, relaxing.

Damian asked. “Nah, I’ve got it all under control,” Mark said easily. “So, how do you guys usually spend your days?” “I actually borrowed a book from the library,” I said, “so I’ll probably just read all day.” “You still borrow physical books?” Mark asked, genuinely curious. “Why not just get it on your phone?” “Because it’s not the same,” I replied with a smile. “There’s something different about holding it, about the smell of paper and ink, and swiping pages.”

Gabriel pestered on. “Very funny...” “Holy shit! Guys, look!” Matt pointed at the book, getting the others’ attention. “Woah...” Gabriel’s eyes went wide when he saw the weird markings begin to materialise on both sides of the former blank pages like an unseen invisible force was writing on the book. The markings seemed to be in a strange language, unlike any they had ever seen and was in black ink. Once the markings had filled up both pages, the book began to spin after shutting itself up, much to everyone’s surprise.

I noticed right away that there were several different spots bookmarked with small, lilac-colored sticky notes. Thumbing through to see what the bookmarks were for, I found that Fiona’s tiny, tidy handwriting adorned the margins of scatted pages all throughout the book. Some passages in the printed text were also outlined or underlined. These lines had been drawn precisely, no doubt using the little metal ruler I saw in a pencil cup on the desk. Fi’s notes were all about Alexis and how the text in the book related to her specifically. Curious, I returned to the bookshelf and pulled out another book.

“do not read your own book—you might not like how it ends.” Glancing further up the case, the letter ‘G’ was carved in deeply. I scanned the books with my eyes and found myself reading the names that were painted on the spines of the books. Glenda Macon, Gregory Marsh, Gwyn Masters… Each book had a name embroidered on the spine. The books were all black, with names in a flat white. Very few books actually looked different from the others. The one named, Glenda Macon, had a rose with thorns dancing along the cover. I even noticed one that was a shade of slate grey.

I slid it back into its gap on the shelf, and as I did, something made me pause. The pages were marked. Not my markings — I hadn't written in the books, just taken notes on my own paper. These were someone else's: faint pencil lines in the margins, barely there, the kind of mark you made without thinking when you were reading fast and wanted to find your place again. Three pages marked. The footnote about the Ashford name. The passage about the coup. And the final sentence — *the heir was never found* — underlined so lightly it was almost invisible.