Noah smirked uncontrollably as he finished writing the soon to be truth. Margaret was just outside the door when her clothes started to shift. Her nice dress dulled and darkened while it began to fuse together. As her dress became jeans, her top became a shitty looking tank top. Her breasts were barely being held by it and it was clear she couldn't afford much else. The rest of her sullied as well. Her nails lost their polish and her hair became curlier and unkept in a tight bun. She lost all makeup and gained a pound or two.
She turned around and Noah tried not to laugh. Her makeup was gone, her eyes had bags under them, and she was overall way more disheveled. She looked at Noah and gave a genuine smile, which almost freaked him out as usually she never gave these to him. She then asked "Do you need me to clean anything else Mr. Noah?" with a heavy Irish brogue.
"Uh, no. It's fine, thank you Margaret." He replied with a little held back chuckle.
Margaret shrugged before walking off to the bathroom. Noah watched as she began to scrub there toilet before he decided to move on. He was gonna get revenge on each and every single one of his adoptive family. He was sick and tired of all of them treating him with disdain. It was finally time for Noah to be in control.
He walked downstairs to find his family lounging around. Mr. McCoy was sitting at the table reading on his laptop with coffee in hand. In the living room, the only other person he could see was Stacy watching some Kardashian garbage. Then, from the kitchen, in walked another red headed woman that Noah had never seen before. He was confused at first, but once he saw her kiss Mr. McCoy, he quickly pieced it together.
She was Mr. McCoy's new wife that reality had altered into existence. Noah was astounded at the notebook's power. He walked nonchalantly over to the corner of the room and sat down near a desk they had in the corner. Of course, his "family" didn't notice him do it as he was practically invisible to them. He started to smirk as he thought about what could be done. He opened the journal and wrote another lie.