Annabelle Books Novels & Stories

Anabelle took out a paper and gave it to Opal. “In it is written where, all my family’s treasures are hidden” Anabelle said. She was ready to give anything just to be the Luna. On her way back, Anabelle began to plan a way to get the Alpha, all to herself. Just as she got home into that evening, right at the door of the house, there was a shadow behind her but she didn’t see it. That shadow had followed her from the beginning of her journey to the witch’s house and back to the pack.

Chapter 52 Annabelle POV I was in the living room, buried in one of the books I took from the shelf, with a cup of coffee by my side. Damien was at the back, mending some part of the fence nature had slowly but consistently damaged. Earlier this morning, I was at the back of the house for no other reason than curiosity. I realized when I woke up, I hadn’t toured that part of the house. I came out of my room and went there. Prepared. That was the word that came to mind not empty. It looked the area had been cleared for something.

I took the stairs and found Annie still on the couch exactly where I had left her and she looked up when she heard me and her face was pale and careful and already braced. "Is it true?" I heard myself ask. She nodded. "You saw her. You talked to her." "Y—Yes." "And she's—she's really alive." Annie stood slowly and reached into her pocket and held out a business card. White. Clean. I took it and looked at it. Mira Chen. Founder and Creative Director. ATELIER M. A phone number. An address on Melrose.

Her mother dragged her out of the house and shut the door against her Anabelle banged at the door until her hand hurt, she cried until her voice croaked but her mother did not bulge, sniffing, she picked up the small bag that contained her clothes and wandered off Great! Now she is pregnant and homeless all thanks to Hazel De Valle. ******************************************* [SIX YEARS LATER] "Happy birthday sweetheart," Ana said as she kissed her son's sleepy face and his eyes snapped opened "Mom, I'm five years old today, you promised to get me a cool gift on my fifth-year birthday"

She always said her books were her life, and her characters would as well be her children. Although she barely made public appearances, most of the profits from her book went to charity. She took her last breath right in this cottage, on the rocking chair in the bedroom. Annabelle was diagnosed with cancer at the age of forty, but she made the most out of the rest of her years. She'd died whilst reading the first book she'd ever written, and it was tagged as a peaceful demise.

After a brief scolding from my teacher, I was sent to assist the librarian. The library was a sanctuary of towering shelves and soft whispers, its grandeur unexpectedly breathtaking. The scent of aged books and polished wood wrapped around me like a comforting cloak. Wandering through the aisles, I stumbled upon a dimly lit corner that exuded an eerie presence. A single book stood out—its cover blank and edges charred. Curious, I picked it up. "Weird," I muttered, flipping through its brittle pages. My blood ran cold when I saw my name inscribed on the last page.

Her hand flew up in a desperate attempt to wipe it away before Madam could see the evidence. Eyes sharp as an eagle’s despite her increasing age, Madam caught the movement. Her dim, grey eyes flicked from the paper that lady before her. The chair creaked ominous as the woman stood. Withered, gnarled fingers lay the quill aside. Annabelle took in a hitched breath. She knew what was coming. She did not attempt to back away as Madam made her approach. Her hostile eyes bore into her, igniting within her a flame of fear. She stood there a moment, speaking not a word.

the lady said, which caused her to seize her hands from the lady's grasp before walking frustratedly back into the room, laid on the bed and slept. * Hearing a knock on the door, she grumbled before opening her eyes. "What is it?" she asked when a lady walked in. "I brought you some books." "What books?" she asked as she stared at the books in the lady's hand. "Story books,'' the lady replied as she stared at the floor. "I don't read story books," Annabelle said before laying down on the bed. "They are on the table," the lady replied before walking out of the room. Opening her eyes lazily, she sat up on the bed as she stared at the books which were neatly kept on the table.

She had read many in a lot of books, and she knew that the best way to beat a curse was to study it. Roxanne could feel a smile forming on her face as a memory came unbidden to her. It was when Lord Alex had gotten Annabelle her first book, and Annabelle had in turn gifted it to her. She would read the books and narrate to Annabelle, who would in turn narrate back to her father and teachers, and get more books because of how fast she was learning. The trick had worked for a while, at least until Lord Alex had finally discovered it and started asking his daughter personal questions.

Their aim that night was to get food for dinner, but Mira wanted to know who she had been sharing her home with a little better. “So, Anabelle, tell me more about yourself,” she said, keeping her face neutral. “So far, all I know about you is that you're from Spooky Hollow, you are the only survivor of an attack on your pack, and you hate witches, including me. With good reason, by the way. What else is there to you?” Rolling her eyes, Anabelle tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Well, my name is Anabelle. As you already know, ” she added, taking note of the way Mira's eyes had rolled into the back of her head.