Book Slow Burn Novels & Stories

Though my vision was blurry, I kept my eyes glued to the woman in front of me. She seemed familiar and like a complete stranger at the same time. Just last night, this dazzling, showy woman had held my foot, kissing it and saying how much she loved me in an affectionate voice. And yet, now, she wanted me dead on the spot. Pain crashed over me all of a sudden. It felt like my arms had been ripped off. Blood streamed down my face, stinging my eyes. It hurt so much that I clenched my jaw and could not even scream.

He went back to his notebook. Dante picked up his wine. Brussels in January was doing its grey philosophy outside the restaurant window, and inside the table was warm with people who had built something together and were sitting in it, and the working group had recognized the methodology as sound, and the second novel was sixty-four thousand words with a cooperating third act, and in the Alentejo the garlic was underground doing its slow patient work, and in Cardiff there was a box with a note at the bottom of it, and the year was barely begun and was already, in its specific way, correct.

A surge goes through my body and I throw myself before the fire place, "Darius, no! wh-why, why did you throw the book into the fire!?" I watch helplessly as the book begins to burn. Taking a hasty move I stick my hand into the flames, trying to grab the book but the heat of the fire consumes my hands and I hiss in pain. Darius grabs onto me, hauling me away from the fire and into his arms. "Fuck, Audrey. What is wrong with you!? Why did you put your hand into the fire, do you not consider you will get burnt!?" My gaze is still fixated on the book as it chips away, the familiar pages folding in burns.

Inside, it was choked with dust. "Don't worry, Connor," one of his friends had told him during a conversation Samantha had overheard. "We've already set up the timed incendiary. You just need to lure her in and lock the door from the outside. Once it starts burning, she won't be able to get out. Based on the last fire, wait fifteen minutes, then go in and save her. She won't die—maybe just a few burns. But when she sees you coming through the flames, she'll be so grateful and start crying." Samantha had heard it all. And she was ready to let "Samantha" be buried in this fire for good.

I pulled out the latest BookTok darling from my backpack—the one with the cover everyone was blushing over—and flipped to where I’d left off. The girl in the book was officially snowed in at a remote cabin with her hot, brooding not-uncle and his even hotter sons. It was chaotic, messy, probably deeply inappropriate—and I was all in. I’d just hit the chapter with the spicy scene. You know the one. A fireplace. A blizzard. Tension so thick it needed a crowbar. I took a long sip of my lavender drink and sank deeper into the fantasy. This? This was exactly what I needed.

said Jette. “Peace?” asked Brent. Jette accepted the apology and they shook hands. *** When Jette arrived home, she immediately examined if the comb has hair strands. It has!!! She inserted those hairs on the pages of the book, and a flame starts from the bottom, until the midway, and the book was burned half. She’s so happy!!! She immediately called Crisanta. “Miss, I have burned the book on its halfway,” said Jette. “Nice. The second rule can be found on the burned part,” Crisanta said.

Slow burn. Please give that book a try and let me know if you like it. And I would like to know if you would want a short portion of John and Georgia's story or a direct epilogue to close the book.

Magic tightening like a net. He began to speak, chanting in an old tongue. But before the incantation could finish, the book burned. Flame shot up from the name — not wild, but deliberate. Purposeful. It didn’t destroy the page. It sealed it. The gold letters glowed red-hot before cooling into black glass. The Archivist stepped back, eyes wide. “The book has accepted her.” The woman Councilor snarled. “Then we’ll erase the page.” I stepped forward.