Arcane Artbook Novels & Stories

Rita The air in the hidden wing of the library was thick with the scent of aged parchment and something deeper—magic, old and restless. Rita trailed her fingers along the spines of the grimoires, each one humming under her touch like a sleeping beast. "This one," Derek murmured, pulling a heavy tome bound in cracked leather. "It’s been calling to you since we walked in." Rita took it, the moment her skin met the cover, a shudder ran through her.

That wouldn’t be too much, right? Stepping forward, I run my hand along the first box I find and pull open the flaps, revealing the many books that are lying inside. "Hm," I can’t stop the curiosity that begins to flare as I examine the titles. Most are clearly spell books, but there is one in particular that draws my attention. "Artes Obscurae."

Some primordial instinct sensed the immense power housed here. I moved swiftly toward the back where the most dangerous texts were kept, lantern held high. The arcane symbols on these tomes seemed to shift and writhe in the flickering light. I selected an innocuous brown book titled Bond of Will and eased it carefully from the shelf. Blowing off the layer of dust, I began rifling through the faded pages eagerly. Diagrams of intricate runes and disturbing illustrations of chained dragons met my eye. I devoured the archaic text hungrily, searching for the secret rituals to bind a dragon's will. Here, at last, were the forbidden truths I had sought!

The pattern on the front was of a wolf howling at the moon, encircled in intricate intertwining branches. Curling up in my favourite chair, I carefully lay the book in my lap and open the cover. “The ancient art of untamed magic, “I read aloud and took in the subject matter. Untamed magic was the old term used for dark or forbidden magic. My hands shook as I took in the magnitude of what I was reading. There were witches in this house channelling untamed magic, Alune was right, and it terrified me.

The circle was drawn in Himalayan salt and crushed pomegranate seeds, the air thick with the scent of burnt honey and Ava's desperation. She wasn't praying; she was bargaining. Her knife, usually an extension of her will, felt heavy and dull in her hand. The critics' words echoed, derivative, lacking fire, safe, carved deeper wounds than any blade. Michelin stars felt like distant, dying embers. Inspiration had deserted her like a fickle lover. So, she turned to the unconventional section of her grandmother's grimoire, the one bound in suspiciously soft, warm leather. Incubus Minor: For Creative Ignition. Price: Nights of Service.

Clear! Rena then got up, put in some pillows to make it as props, and covered it with a blanket. Her hand touched something she had prepared on the dressing table. A long object such as a hairpin can be referred to as an arnal, with a dragon-carved decoration. She deliberately kept the arnal in the book inserts novel. "If it's true that this can get you guys back, I'll do whatever it takes!" she said confidently. Who would have thought if yesterday, when she dreamed where the Aries Palace is located, she got the precious object? The thing was in her lap, and who knows where it came from. And finally, she knew something, that the Golden arnal was able to defeat the devil.

"He's sensitive as a petal, anyone who doesn't possess magic would never be able to mess with this book, he doesn't open up to humans." Every page Leonore passed contained scriptures that seemed to be as old as Gaul itself. Drawings of what would be wolves or bears, in even scarier sizes than normal. There were flowers, herbs, roots, leaves, stems, all drawn time delicately shaped hour drawn as if the person who was illustrating that page was struggling to stay alive. Artemisia wasn't sure where she had gotten that speculation from, but given the world the young woman lived in, with or without magic, the young woman didn't doubt much whether that was true.

The walls were adorned with lavish artwork, the floors were made of gleaming marble, and the tables were set with fine china and crystal glasses. I looked around, my eyes wide with wonder. "Wow, this place is seriously fancy. I feel like I should be wearing a tiara or something." Derek chuckled, taking my hand and leading me to our table. "You're perfect just the way you are, Cynthia. Besides, I think you'd look great in a tiara." I playfully rolled my eyes, smiling. "You're just saying that because you're trying to butter me up so I'll share my food with you."

So I left it, settling on exploring my new home instead. Today I found myself in a cosy study, still a considerably large room, but smaller than most that I had come across. It reminded me of Lilith’s living room, dark red wood seemed to domineer the room in here. A large inglenook fireplace flanked by a large suit of armour on each side. Over the mantel was a battered shield that had seen better days and two swords, mostly likely longer that I was, crossed at the back of it. A coat of arms could be made out under the battered metal, to me in looked like a half goat half man creature, holding a large raven in one hand and a snake in the other. I assumed it must belong to the Caine family.