Novel & Cerita Arthur Morgan Journal Drawings

From the floor, Toby suddenly wanders over holding one of his dinosaur drawings. “Mommy.” “What?” He lifts the paper toward me proudly. “This one is the annoying man.” I blink and take the drawing automatically. It’s a dinosaur in a suit with tiny angry eyebrows. Malachi immediately loses his composure laughing while Lilith nearly falls off the couch again. Even I choke out a laugh before I can stop myself. Arthur hears the noise through the phone. “What happened?” I stare at the drawing for another second. Then against my better judgment, I take a picture and send it to him. There’s silence on the line for three full seconds.

Aria was about to give up when she heard Morgan call from the other side of the room. She looked over to where his voice came from and rounded various shelves of books. In his hand was a large brown book with gold leaf that had mostly faded. The book was torn at the binding and some pages were slipping loose. Morgan set it down on a nearby table and opened it. On the first page Aria could see was a drawing of a human with what looked like dragonfly wings. What is this? “A book about mystical creatures.” He turned the page, “I’ve never seen this before.”

“Is it okay if you finish what you have drawn me? I want to see it and display it in my room.” Morgan nodded. He resumed what he might be doing but he couldn't understand why he seemed preoccupied when it came to Selene. The truth was, it wasn't the first time he saw her. There was another time he was watching her from afar because he enjoyed his attitude. What he had been thinking was that Selene might give him excitement since everything was so fast to learn for him. Selene rushed to their room. A family portrait came to her eyes. She walked toward where Morgan's drawing was to Solene. Her hands slowly gripped.

He had been hoping one of them would lead him to a secret room behind the bookcase, but nothing had happened. Nothing stood out to him as out of place. Well, more than it already was. Noah had led him on a wild goose chase. He was about to turn around and leave when he spotted something. In a dusty corner of one of the bookshelves, Arthur found a weathered journal. He was one-hundred percent sure that he’d ripped every single book down. That definitely had not been there before. Noah had left him a present of sorts. Arthur marched over and grabbed the book. Its pages were filled with cryptic writings, a testament to a mind teetering on the edge of sanity. The entries told a tale of obsession

I paused, and then continued, "I know there are rumors out there about you that don't paint you in a good light, but I choose not to believe them. More and more I see proof that you're contrary to the lies that people have perpetuated. From my perspective, you have a kind heart." Arthur's mood visibly lifted. His smile grew wider as he listened to my compliments. I couldn't help but blush. It made me happy to see him smile. "You're quite intelligent, Ophelia," Arthur remarked. My heart filled with joy, and I felt warm as I grinned. It was always affirming to receive praise from him. However, soon humility washed over me, and I said, "But Mr. Morgan, I still know my place. You don't have to a

By midnight, the storm outside had reached a crescendo, rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the library. On the table between them lay her father’s journal, its pages covered in a complex cipher of botanical sketches and numerical grids. ​Vivian leaned over the table, her silk blouse draping open slightly, revealing the soft swell of her breasts. She was exhausted but hyper-aware of Arthur’s proximity. He had shed his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up his muscular, vein-lined forearms.

I didn't understand what Lauren meant by 'clear goals,' but I had always wondered why Atlas chose me. "By the way, do you know Mia Morgan?" I suddenly remembered that cold and distant woman. "Mia Morgan?" Lauren looked at me, slightly surprised. "How do you know her?" "She was at the spa yesterday and even took my side against Liora," I said, "She was cold and unrelenting." "Oh! She’s Arthur Morgan’s daughter!" Lauren answered with certainty. I was stunned. "Mia is Arthur’s daughter? He's a big shot in Foswood. No wonder she's so arrogant. But it seems like Liora doesn't know her."

She ran her fingers over the brass armature, remembering the fear and the certainty of the code. ​She noticed a small, beautifully bound leather journal tucked away on a high, otherwise empty shelf. It was thick, obviously old, and looked entirely out of place in the modern, digital landscape of his study. ​Unable to resist the temptation of a possible key to his past, Amara pulled the journal down. It was heavy, the leather soft with age. She opened it, expecting meticulous ledgers or coded accounts. ​Instead, the pages were filled with intricate, detailed sketches and technical drawings—not of weapons or smuggling routes, but of architectural designs, engineering schematics, and detailed b

He is carrying an old, well-maintained leather satchel, the kind that has been in use for decades and has the patina of something that has carried important things for a very long time. He sets the satchel on the studio worktable. He looks at Samuel. He looks at me. He looks at the paintings on the wall. The corner canvas. The Gerald painting. The September painting. Three pieces of Samuel’s work, looking back at Arthur Mead, who has been carrying this notebook since November. “I read all forty-three,” Arthur says. “Three times.” “What are they?” Samuel says.

I’d spent most of the day holed up in our bedroom, too afraid to even look out the window. I knew this was a part of Arthur’s life, that the media had always been a looming presence, but I hadn’t really understood what that meant until now. Until I was the one they were talking about, the one they were tearing apart. I was lost in my thoughts when Arthur finally came into the room, looking more exhausted than I’d ever seen him. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples like he was trying to ward off a headache. “I’m sorry, Morgan,” he said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.