Book Black Butterfly Novels & Stories

“Doubt keeps you alive.” He reached for a book from the nearest shelf and flipped it open. The pages were blank. “Do you know why my library has no dust?” I shook my head. “Because the books breathe,” he said. “They exhale what others forget.” He offered the book to me. The pages shifted—faint outlines forming, fading, forming again. Names, dates, a line of ink that moved like a pulse: Evelyn Blackthorne arrived under a waning moon. I slammed it shut. “You’re writing my story.”

(Black butterflies. They weren't beautiful, not like the azules and amarillas that fluttered around Dragon when he was a child—innocent specks of color in his small world. These were dark and menacing. Their wings like shards of obsidian, sharp and glinting. They poured from the crumbling walls, an endless stream of blackness against the decaying adobe. Wings armored like beetle chitin, glinting with miniature skulls etched into the blackness. No—not just skulls. Faces. His face.

“After I finished high school, I met a guy and we instantly clicked.. He was bigger than me, handsome, smart, rich, you name it and of course surrounded by beautiful, attractive women. I, on the other hand, was shy and inexperienced. You know, I always wondered why he picked me… In order to keep him with me, I became another person until one day I found him with another woman. I left without any words. My world was shattered and I did everything that was humanly possible to forget him. I couldn’t though, night and day all I could think was him. On Christmas day, I received this butterfly brooch without any card just this massage.” The lady paused and after a quick moment she turned the brooc

Flavius wades through the crowd of dragons until he comes upon a SpitFire much smaller than the rest. Her scales are a brilliant lilac compared to the deep violet of the other SpitFires. She slowly approaches Flavius sniffing his outstretched hand. Flavius uncurls his fingers, reaching for her head. In one swift movement, her jaws snap down on Flavius's hand. He lets out a yelp of surprise but does not try to pull his hand away. Blood drips from the mouth of the small SpitFire. She makes no move to rip Flavius's arm off, which is a good sign.

"Greetings…" "You don't believe me, do you? Take a look at this." Black White knew what Chase and his group were thinking. He grabbed something in the air, and a black and white book appeared in his hand. He placed it in front of Chase and the others. "What's this? Chase looked at the cover of the black and white book. The words 'Book of Life and Death' were printed on it. "The Book of Life and Death?!" He was surprised. Walter and Barry gulped. Was that really the Book of Life and Death?

Zevran said. She raised her hands, the flames forming a circle between them. “By my measure, you will burn no more in hunger, but in memory.” The black fire contracted into a single pulse—then exploded outward as pure white. The shockwave swept through the chamber, up the stairs, through the citadel, and across the plains. When it faded, silence reigned. The Black Moon in the sky flickered once, then began to bleed gold. Zevran sank to his knees, pulling Kaelira into his arms. Her skin still glowed faintly, her breathing ragged but steady.

she said, smiling happily at the thought of their first grandchild. “Hopefully, ma. By the way, I’m here to get my books.” “The ones by Jakara Blue? Yes, it’s on the bookshelf in your room.” Later in my room, I indeed saw about ten books by Jakara Blue that were arranged neatly on a shelf. I picked one of them and traced the embossed author’s name with my finger. This explained why I used the name Jakara Blue as my new name in Japan. It must be because I was an avid reader of Jakara Blue’s books. Remembering about my purpose in coming here, I started opening the folders that were arranged on another corner of the shelf. I had the habit of placing important documents in a folder.

He was here. The sun was up and in my eyes. The first thing I saw was a sheer curtain attempting to keep the morning light away. The wind blew, sending the curtains up to the ceiling. The few seconds that the window was left bare, I caught a glimpse of the flowers designed by mother nature blooming in bunches and shrubs. They were in a dozen poignant colours, the reds looked like it could bleed. And there were butterflies, two– no three fluttered in my vision. Their wings, quite small but painted like it could only be made for the museum or for Disneyland. The curtain closed and I saw the room more clearly.

She whispered more to herself, but I heard. I quickly added, "I am really sorry." "It's nothing, Luna, it's just unusual that the door opened for you." Her eyes studied me briefly. "But it's alright. I was only worried when you reached for the book. It's a little dangerous for non-witches." I glanced at the book cover, and on it a name was inked at the bottom. 'Fiona Black' I removed my eyes from it. "I was just curious about this side of the castle,"

“Exactly. That’s what makes it fun. I don’t have to win... I just have to watch you lose.” Despair clawed at my chest. I glanced at Lucian, his face pale but resolute, and at Mr. Jones, who looked as if he might collapse beneath the weight of guilt. I felt trapped. Hopeless. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it... a single butterfly, its wings painted in the very colors of the Bloodshade’s blossom. Crimson. Silver. Violet. It drifted lazily, unhurried, toward the tree, as if to remind me that nature always has a rhythm, a way, a wisdom of its own.