Book Black Butterfly Novels & Stories

I couldn’t risk leaving traces. I ejected the flash and slipped it back into its sleek casing before locking it away in my bedside drawer. Sleep came late. Even when I drifted off, the faces from those recordings haunted me. By morning, my burner phone buzzed violently beside me. I groaned, reaching for it. Raina. “I found the Black Book,” I blurted before she could speak. “Raina… it’s worse than we thought. I feel sick to my stomach.” A pause. Then her voice came, soft and cautious. “I’m so sorry. I’ve also made progress on my path.”

My eyes suddenly focused on one book, ‘The rare breed – how to train and guide new vampires’, it was called. New vampires? I thought, does that mean when they’re children? I wondered as I picked it up. Just as I pulled it out from its resting place, I heard a small thump behind it. I looked into the bookshelf to see an old black book had fallen behind the ones in front. Setting the one in my hand on a little wooden table next to me, I picked up the black book. I took in a sharp inhale of breath when I saw the same detailed pattern that was on the dagger Kyan had shown me. ‘The hunters’ was all it said on the front, the same book Kyan and Zekan had spent days looking for.

"Let us start from the open shelves once more." She went back to looking, this time taking her time and being meticulous. She was captivated by a book with a black cover. It was the first book she had come across with such a cover, so she carefully took it out and brushed the dust off of it. “It looked untouched for months.” She opened it and began reading it slowly. "This is the book." Her eyes widened as she attentively read it. "This is the butterfly symbol and Nathan's royal seal," she sighed, relieved that she had finally gotten what she desired.

I browse every single one of them then I stop at the second to the last page of paper when I noticed a word saying " leave her alone Diana is mine forever" It was written with blood ...fresh blood!!! ..I can sense where this blood came from... This is the blood of one of my students named Jane. Poor Jane as I slowly close the form I was holding. I leaned my back on the chair while I drop my head upward at the same time eyes on the ceiling. Ps. Black Butterfly- a black angel made you do bad things or even a sign of death.

A mistake, she would later think, but in that moment, it felt like an invitation. The moment her finger completed the circuit of the strange symbol, the book flew from her hands, not falling, but hovering in the air before her. It snapped open, pages whipping in a silent, furious storm. Then, from the center of the vortex, smoke began to pour forth, not grey, but deep, bruised purple. It coalesced, thickened, and took shape.

It was a butterfly. I blinked twice in amusement and slowly reached out, only for it to fly over a potted hydrangea in the corner. I contented myself with watching from afar. It flapped its majestic wings elegantly— black etched with purple dots and an intricate pattern on the sides. Somewhere on the internet, someone pointed out that butterflies cannot actually see their wings. I wonder if it was actually true and what a shame that would be. To be so beautiful and yet so painfully unaware.

As Balaro spoke, a large black butterfly appeared in the suite and landed on the back of his hand. "You're here!" The black butterfly gently flapped its wings before landing on the painting in Balaro's hand. Bolero smiled as he saw the butterfly, his expression full of joy. Despite the excellent soundproofing in the suite, the people living next door—Ayo, Shuten, and Yondu, who had just awoken—could hear Balaro's laughter.

She slips down into the ground and places her face into her knees. She hits her head on something hard, and in an attempt to remove the object in an irritated motion she almost dropped the big book. She whispers the title out loud, “Becoming Black magic.” She open the book and shockingly whisper shouts, “Written by Kateri Lita!” She continues to read this book that the queen had written about black magic. Jolene argues with herself out loud, “There’s no way that the queen actually wrote a Bococa about black magic. Is she really that stupid, I wonder if she wrote in here about how to defeat herself?”

The butterfly landed briefly on a broad leaf, wings opening and closing like breath. “Whoa,” he whispered. “Did you see that?” Bobby crouched beside him, careful not to crowd. “That’s a blue morpho,” she said. “They look bright like that when they fly, but when they close their wings, they disappear.” Christopher frowned. “Disappear?” She nodded. “The outside is blue. The inside is brown, like bark. It’s how they survive.” The butterfly lifted again, the blue momentary and electric, then vanished into shadow.

Somewhere in the city—several stories above, in a steel and glass building—Julian Blackwood lay in his dark, sleek bedroom, staring at the book she had given him. He'd never intended to keep it. When Lena Carter had offered it to him—those gentle words, that thoughtful crease between her eyebrows—he'd intended to refuse. But something in her eyes had taken away his intention. It was neither flirting nor pretense. It was genuine. Silent. Generous. He hated kindness. It broke things open. Julian gazed down at the book. The cover was unadorned, the title in gold print: *A Man Called Ove*. He remembered Lena's words: