The Birthmark By Nathaniel Hawthorne Novels & Stories

They weren't fighting the Void; they were negotiating with it. "It is too much," Nocturne whispered. "You cannot simply throw the darkness away. It has to go somewhere." "I will hide it in the blood," Solari replied, his voice cold and desperate. "I will create a class of people who are born to carry the rot. They will be the filters. They will suffer so that the rest of us can be pure. We will call them 'The Markless.' We will tell them they are worthless so they never realize they are actually our saviors."

hope. I scrambled up from the bed and went to the mirror on the wall. Turning my arm to get a better look, I studied the birthmark. The memories it brought with it were hazy, like looking through foggy glass, but they were there. This mark had always been part of me, a sign of something deeper that I had never quite understood.

There was indeed a birthmark the size of a fingernail on his skin, and it was in the shape of a plum blossom. The words formed puzzled questions. [Wait. Was the plot supposed to go like this?] [Isn’t Ethan supposed to be the protagonists’ son? Why is he Garet’s son now?] Margaret refused to believe it. She stared at the birthmark in disbelief. “There’s no way… It has to be drawn over!” She then lunged forward and tried to wipe off the birthmark, but even after the skin turned red, the birthmark refused to disappear. In disdain, I shoved her off and sneered at her. “Your son doesn’t have any birthmark. You should believe me now.”

After finishing half bottle of scotch, Zane decided to let his parents rest for the night and didn’t forget to thank him for yet another special surprise for his birthday. Every year on his birthday, Zane looks out his window where he can see the night sky showering the town with snowflakes. As if it’s his conscious habit to hold on his necklace while looking at the moon every night on his birthday. Along where his necklace hangs on his chest, is his very unusual birthmark. Unlike a normal mark, the color of his is somewhat red and spanning under his skin. Despite the quite bizarre and intrinsic appearance of his birthmark, touching and seeing the mark on his skin always put a proud smile on

He had made me believe that his love was stronger than the pack’s hatred, stronger than my empty womb, stronger than the ugly birthmark I hid so desperately beneath high collars. And now he was the one delivering the blow I had dreaded most. My trembling fingers instinctively rose to my throat, pressing the fabric of my dress hard against the large, discolored birthmark on my collarbone — the mark that had made me feel hideous since I was a child. The mark that proved I was damaged. Unworthy. Matteo stood tall on the raised platform, jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle jumping. His eyes… Goddess, his eyes looked haunted, but he didn’t look away, not even when the whispers erupted

The ink smudged, the words seemed rushed, but I could still make them out. “There was a child, a girl, spared in the chaos who was taken in the fire, and she had a birthmark on her left shoulder that looked like a bruise.” I froze, my fingers moved instinctively to my shoulder, I pulled back my shirt, the way I had a hundred times before, and stared at the small mark near my collarbone. I’d always thought it was just a birthmark, just something I was born with, It had no importance. But now I knew the truth, this was the only proof that I wasn’t born into this life, that I had been stolen.

he murmured, brushing a finger along my skin. It was the mark. That small, strange birthmark on my shoulder. Barely bigger than a coin, shaped like a broken star or some curling flame. His brows drew together. He tied the final thread. Then froze. “What is that?” he asked. I blinked. “What?” “That mark,” he said, brushing the birthmark on my left shoulder. “I’ve seen that before. That shape… fuck. It’s familiar.” “It’s just a mark,” I muttered, suddenly feeling naked in a whole different way.

“Did you sleep with her?” “Boston!” I left them bickering and entered the room Lucian had pointed out. Nathalia lay asleep on the bed. I approached quietly and took hold of her wrist. My gaze settled on the bracelet she wore. A sigh escaped me. It really was the bracelet I'd given my little sister when we were children. The initials carved into the wood had been done by my own hands. “Are you really Yannah?” I gently lowered her hand. Then I froze. Just above her elbow was a large red birthmark.

Antheia turned her back to her and fixed her robe, pushing down a sleeve to reveal the back of her shoulder which held her birthmark as she said, “Oh, this one? It is not a tattoo. I do not know. I have had it since I was a kid and I noticed that it also grew as I grew up.” Jane had her eyes locked on the birthmark, she knows it because she has it too but it was just a very little mark on her, it was also fading and not very visible, however, on her sister Luna Elena, it was located at the side of her abdomen, very evident and larger, a symbol of the first born Rossathorn and a rightful successor of the pack. “It is pretty. Is it some sort of a birthmark?” Jane uttered. “Probably. I am not s

The pressure was both cruel and intimate, as if the monster was playing with me. And for the briefest, sickening moment, I thought maybe he remembered me. Maybe this was Kaiden fighting through the haze, trying to touch me, not harm me. And then with one brutal motion, he stabbed his claws into my neck. Right over the place where my birthmark sat. The mark I’d been born with. The one Kaiden used to trace softly at night, whispering that it was proof I’d been born for him, destined for him. Pain.