A Lady Reading A Book Novels & Stories

On it was a large golden dragon staring down at a woman wielding a sword, her long blonde hair untamed in her leather armor. "Is this what you like to read?" He asked behind her, but before she could answer, a squeal sounded near them. "It's her! It's Lily Thornstun!" A woman squealed out, a small group of people swarming around her. Her back pressed up against the window instinctively, looking around at the beaming faces. "Miss Thornstun, can I have an autograph?" One of them held up her book. Oh, that's what this is about.

I went to find her. The library was lit by a single lamp. She was in the chair by the reading table, the Anchor Omega history book open in her lap, her head tilted against the back of the chair. Asleep. I stood in the doorway. The book had slipped slightly—still in her lap but angled, like she had been reading and the reading had simply continued into sleep without a clear transition point. The lamp on the table threw warm light across the page and her hands and the cover of the book.

We cuddle, we kiss, we argue and make up, which is what most couples do but we ain’t couples or are we? “We’re here” Lyla announced and I see an old, small lady sitting on a bed, reading a book with her glasses. She looked up upon hearing Lyla’s voice and gave us the brightest smile I had ever seen on any old person. “You must be Aurora,” I nodded. She tapped the side of her bed, gesturing for me to sit beside her. I sat down and she dropped her book, touched my face, before opening her hands wide so I could hug her, which I did.

Despite the Lady’s warning, nothing could have prepared him for the scene in front of him. Amongst piles of books and dust, sat a worn to a frazzle Brianna. Her auburn hair needed severe untangling and her shoulders slacked with the weight of a mountain. Her eyes lacked life, hovering over a single book page not making any sort of progress. As if they had forgotten how to read but kept coping the movement just to avoid staying still.

The smell of old paper and coffee wrapped around her like a blanket. "Can I help you?" asked the woman behind the counter. She was older, with gray hair and kind eyes and reading glasses perched on her nose. "I'm just looking," Emma said. "Take your time. That's what books are for." Emma wandered the aisles. She ran her fingers along the spines. She pulled out a novel, read the first page, put it back. She pulled out another, read the first paragraph, held it to her chest. This one, she thought.

Certainly, he was not the type to endure a long day of studies like I did. “Can I retire now? I can feel the comfort of my bed calling to me,” I muttered with a yawn as I averted my gaze to Phyllis. She remained seated across me, watching keenly to make sure I never missed any word in the book. I guess that was how unoccupied she was. The witch nodded and reached for the book, her eyes squinting the moment they met with the sepia yellow pages. She gestured for me to stand but before I could obey, the Library door opened and a balmy-looking Lady walked in. She was a servant, I could tell, judging from the pattern of her dress, as well as the gentle, elegant gathering of her ebony hair.

She took a deep breath, grabbed some more books she thought she’d read at home and walked to the counter. Rhys reentered the bookstore, his gaze instinctively seeking her out until it settled upon her. There she stood, bathed in the soft glow of ambient light filtering through the windows, a representation of grace amidst the chaos. Before her, a towering stack of books wobbled riskily in her arms, straining against the limits of her slender frame. Engaged in conversation with the elderly gentleman behind the reception desk, she seemed utterly captivated by whatever the man was saying. He took slow steps towards the counter standing behind her.

l move my hands back to the position I started from. I saw a lady on the swing, reading a book silently. She is wearing a hospital gown, the same as mine. Her left arm is cast with a blue cloth hanging on her neck. The lady raised her head and her warm brown eyes looked at me with kindness. She was leaning against the swing with a pillow placed behind her. There were wrinkles around her eyes, making her look old. "You must be Anastasia." She said, I was surprised when she knew my name but I guess as what Adam said, she must saw me on the news. I smiled at her warmly as I reached her.

She was never fond of reading a book while riding a carriage as the letters seemed to be moving when she read it, but today, she pretended that she was reading just to keep herself from meeting someone's gaze accidentally. Meanwhile, Reed remained calm on his seat as he kept his eyes outside. But even though his gaze was at the window, he took quick glances at the lady in front of him momentarily. He noticed how her neck turned a little stiff looking to the side for a while now just to avoid the sight of him. He would have said something if she did it longer, but she stopped and started reading a book instead. Reed wanted to smirk when he noticed something. She wasn't really reading. He knew

Books filled every corner—some open, others stacked haphazardly like they’d been read and reread a hundred times. A soft breeze stirred the gauzy curtains, carrying the scent of something floral—lavender, maybe, or sage. And then I saw her. At the center, seated in a massive chair, near a window and holding a steaming cup I assumed was probably tea, was a woman. Her hair was dark auburn, long and thick, braided loosely and thrown over one shoulder. Her eyes, a sharp gray mixed with faint silver– flicked up from the book she was reading and fixed on me.