1 000 Page Books Novels & Stories

I finally said, staring at her with every inch of annoyance in me. “How many hours are we going to take to read these books; it will take an eternity,” I growled, staring at how many books were right in front of me. “They are 50 books in total with 400 pages each. It will take us through the night if we read each book at a speed of 13 minutes. “You are crazy, Clara,” I said almost immediately while glaring at her. I mean, that's not even achievable, “that goal isn't realistic,” I finally voiced out while staring at her.

and I showed him the book I am holding. “Is that your story, right?” Syrel asked and she gets the book away from me. “What the heck. There is nothing inside” she reacted when she saw the content of the book. “It’s just a sample handbound of my story. Besides, where are calculating how we can put all of it in just one book. Look at it, it’s thick because it has 500+ pages” I explained to her. “So don’t expect that it has contents now because it’s just a sample” I added.

It all looked very interesting. I turned a few more pages. "How far are you with translating?" I asked him, while still running my fingers on the words that continued to give me a funny feeling. I turned to the next page and my breath hitched. "I'm on the 74th page." He answered and I looked down at the page number I was on. Page 501. He still had a long way to go. My face flushed and I couldn't get my eyes off the beast I was staring at. The book had no images with colour, but I could already imagine the creature with bright glowing green eyes. Oh no.

I opened the remaining pages but they also had no contents. "What is the use of these pages if there is no written word even just a single one?" I was irritated. I don't even want to read novels that will hang me in the end. There are still so many pages left, I think almost half of my index finger is as thick as no written word on it. 'Gosh!' I just look at who wrote this story. But I didn't see anything and only the title of the book and its design seemed to be outdated due to obsolescence.

She walked to the bookshelf, the sound of her heels against the wood creating an enchanting sound. “Ask away Galina. I have all the answers.” Her voice was carried out by the walls of the office, making it sound rather non-ordinary. “She mentioned something about the divisions of the world. And I don’t…” My voice faded as she came back holding a very faded leather-covered book, which seemed to have at least 10 thousand pages from how thick it was. She laid it in front of me and began pacing around the office.

I looked at the stack. There were perhaps thirty books. Board books at the bottom, the thick-paged kind for very small hands, and picture books above them, and a few that were slightly longer, slightly older, the kind that would take more than one sitting but were not yet chapter books. He had covered a range. He had thought about the range. There was a note on top, written on a small card in his handwriting, which was exact and slightly compressed, the handwriting of someone who had trained their hand for precision.

"What are you reading? Besides the textbook." The change in subject threw me. "Um, I just finished The Stand by Stephen King." His eyes lit up. "The Stand? That's over a thousand pages. You actually finished it?" "I've read it three times," I admitted. "Three times?" He looked genuinely impressed. "Most people won't even read it once because of the length." "The length is part of the appeal," I said, feeling slightly more confident talking about books. "You get to live in that world for longer, get to know the characters so deeply. It's like being part of something bigger than yourself."

“For you.” I could hardly believe it. Flipping through the composition book, I could make out pages upon pages filled with neat handwriting, what looked like ten chapters worth of reading, and even… a couple of smutty scenes. My cheeks warmed as I flipped to a random page and read something about the dragon turning into a man, and…

I spent the rest of the day reading Cyran’s books. There were fifty-four books altogether and I only managed to read part of the first book before falling asleep. This time when I read his book, I paid closer attention to the story he was telling. Now that I knew it wasn’t just a story he created in his head, I noticed more details.

Caitlin sat in her large room in Dunvegan in Castle at a writing desk, looking out the window at the sunset sky. She examined the torn page McCleod had given her, holding it up to the light. She slowly ran her fingertips along the embossed, Latin letters. They looked and felt ancient. The entire page was so beautifully and intricately designed, and she marveled at the intricate colors along the paper’s edges. Back then, she realized, books were made to be works of art in and of themselves.