Books Gravity Falls Journal 1 Novels & Stories

Under a tree shade, I satobserving the lines leafedlimning the page, their greenfix crashing into the shoe-dappled patchof sun and earth. Until a leaf—suddenly—falls to the votive callof six o’ clock, no morefootballing and frisbeeingin sight; it’s unaccidentally “Le Manteau de Pascal,” but accidentally Jorie Graham.

I begin to read his latest thoughts, and as the words sink in, the blood completely drains from my face. The journal slips from my numb fingers, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

It’s also then that I find out I was pregnant and Cain bought me and make me his mistress. I wanted to tell you everything when you turned twelve. If fate stole that chance from me, then these journals will be your lantern in the dark.’ Althea pressed her lips together, but a tear broke free. Gavriel gently brushed it away with the pad of his thumb then he gently caressed her cheek. She closed the journal and held it tightly to her chest as if feeling the warmth of her mother’s embrace once more from it.

Henry**** The journal felt heavy in my hands, its worn leather cover cracked with age, the Dark Moon Alpha's insignia etched faintly on the surface. My heart raced as I opened it, the musty scent of time wafting from the yellowed pages. Each word I read seemed to strip away another layer of the illusion I had built around Xavier’s father—the man I thought had been a savior to me from the Rogues. The first entries were mundane, detailing pack alliances, hunting strategies, and seasonal struggles. But then, the tone shifted. The writing became more erratic, the ink smudged as if the writer's hand had trembled.

GIOVANNI'S POV The leather of the journal felt warm beneath my fingertips, a stark contrast to the cold steel of the vault door I was about to close. Tristan’s handwriting, neat and precise, filled its pages. Pages detailing moments I scarcely remembered noticing, moments of shared laughter, stolen glances, and quiet understanding. Moments that, strung together, painted a picture of something…tender. Something I didn’t think I was capable of inspiring, let alone experiencing.

Their faith in me was humbling, and as the night wound down, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. --- The next morning, I woke early, the apartment still quiet. Ivy and Jasmine were sprawled on the couch, the remnants of our impromptu celebration scattered around them. I smiled, grateful for their friendship, before slipping into the kitchen to make coffee. The journal caught my eye again, and this time, I felt ready. I opened it, the blank pages inviting and intimidating all at once.

If there was a clue about mate bonds, the Moon Goddess, or my rebirth, it would be here. I sifted through piles of parchments, my fingers stained with ink and dust. Hours passed, but nothing jumped out at me. Frustration bubbled in my chest. I was about to give up when a thin leather-bound journal fell from the top shelf, landing at my feet. I picked it up, the cover smooth and cool under my fingertips. --- Inside, the handwriting was neat but unfamiliar, the ink faded in some places but legible. It wasn’t just a journal—it was a record of rituals and experiments conducted by someone named Alaric.

He leans forward and pours us each another dram, fuller this time. I hold his gaze. “What have I done?” “That’s a good fucking question.” I scrub my hand over my face and down the dram of whiskey, then another, and another, until my thoughts begin to swim together, and a nap sounds appealing. Jason exits and returns moments later with his journal–identical to mine. The same pristine hand-pressed pages and leather from the same hide. “Nothing yet,” he says, pressing it into my hand. Sunlight peeks through heavy, moth-eaten curtains, casting the dry floorboards in speckles of gold. The same color I think of every time I imagine Fallon cast in halos of sunshine.

She could not understand it. She hurried across the lower level, remembering its description from an entry in her journals. She remembered the mention of the doorway, the secret portal, that led downstairs to a subterranean level, to Caleb’s coven. She got more excited as she saw, on her left, a roped off area. Behind the rope was a perfectly preserved, medieval staircase. It led up, but only into the ceiling. It didn’t go anywhere. It was just an artifact, on display. The same one described in her journal.

I won’t last a day without sugar, I want to eat something sweet! I felt depressed thinking about the foods I wanted but I haven’t so I threw myself on the tattered bed. Heavy dust puffed out from the sheets making my nose irritated. I started sneezing and sniffling so I crawled out from the bed. The sheet clung to my feet so it fell on the floor with me. I heard a loud thud of something hard that fell on the flooring. I searched on the sheet cover and found a handmade journal. The cover seemed to be made of softwood. There were unfamiliar characters carved at the bottom.