Books On Floor Novels & Stories

When I found a light switch, I flicked it on and the mini chandelier in the center of the ceiling fluttered on. I smiled when I saw the multiple filled bookshelves. "That's more like it," I said out loud as I wandered around the room. My fingers ran over the spines as I looked at the titles. Dust collected on the pad of my fingers. "Man these books are old." I noticed multiple piles of books on the floor. It sure is messy here.

I'm on the third page of a particularly interesting passage about ancient bloodline suppression methods when the floor cracks. Not crumbles. Not settles. Cracks — a sharp, deliberate sound, the way ice splits when something heavy drops onto it from a height. I look down. A thin black line has appeared between two floorboards, running about thirty centimeters before stopping. It isn't a structural issue. The line is too clean. Too deliberate. And it's glowing faintly at the edges. Dark violet, like a bruise made of light. I set the book down. "Huh," I say.

"We are here." I pushed through the glass and stopped dead. My jaw dropped. Warm light from giant crystal chandeliers spilled over shiny black and white floor tiles. Carved wooden stairs twisted up four separate floors, packed tight with books. Even as someone who hated reading, I felt my chest swell at the massive sight. Wolves scattered around the room. Some flipped pages, others whispered stories to pups. Vesper led me to a plain wooden door at the back. Luna Runa stood beside a heavy metal box on the wall.

Leo opened the doors but I couldn't believe what I seen inside From floor to ceiling along the walls there was thousands and thousands of books lined up on huge wooden book cases with shelves packed full of different size and thickness of books. Some of these massive book cases were vertical in the center of the room which also had beautiful colored books lining there shelves. Glass windows were at the very top of the roof line letting in a perfect amount of natural light. The smells that filled my nose were heaven all these paper pages filled the room with the faint smell of ink lingering.

Intrigued by the situation, I start picking up the books near me, heading towards the man I imagine to be the librarian. The library floor is made of dark wood, with wide planks that fit together perfectly, forming a harmonious pattern that seems to whisper ancient stories with each step taken. The corridors are wide, allowing one to walk comfortably among the many bookshelves made of wood, two shades lighter than the floor, filled with books that carry centuries of knowledge, even though many now lie on the floor. The library exudes a sense of order, as if the books have chosen to scatter on the floor deliberately, in a momentary act of rebellion.

And then, he was carrying her in his arms, a firm promise that they were far from over as they passed doors and doors until he turned the knob of one of such doors. Floors covered with white flurry soft rugs that tempted her with an urge to dig her leg into and find out if they were as soft as they looked, the walls were made of shelves of rows and rows of books, a real-life orgy for a nerd, the chair and mahogany table at the side, made it look like a study if not for the king-size bed in the middle of the room which she was deposited on.

There was a leather couch in the corner, a bar cart with expensive-looking bottles of whiskey, and a window that overlooked the estate grounds. It was the kind of room that screamed power and control. The kind of room that belonged to a man like Jonathan Hart. I walked over to the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines. Most of them were business books, biographies of CEOs and politicians, a few on philosophy. Then I noticed something odd. One of the shelves looked… different. Like it didn’t quite sit flush with the wall. I reached out and pressed against it gently. There was a soft click, and the shelf swung inward.

I am surprised that nothing happens. I throw a the remaining shards of glass and wait again. Nothing happens and I am pleasantly surprised. There is no motion trap. I look around and find a book lying haphazardly on the floor beside where I landed. It is big enough to cause a shift in the balance of weight in the floor boards and I decide to use if to test the weight sensitive trap.

They keep law books on the second floor mezzanine, which is potentially the darkest and creepiest area of this place. Once I get to the top of the stairs, I glance down at the piece of paper with the title of the book on. Legendary assassins and their downfall. The shelves are all sorted in alphabetical order, so I find L fast and then search through the plethora of books, looking for the one I need. The same creeping sensation that I’m being watched sweeps over me as I glance down onto the ground floor level toward the door, wondering if I wouldn’t have heard someone enter. “What are you looking for?”

I just wanted something to read until he got back. The office was warm, sunlight spilling through the tall windows onto the heavy desk in the center. It smelled faintly of leather and cedar, Aaron’s scent, lingering even in the air. I drifted toward the shelves. The books were arranged in that way only he would bother with: grouped by topic, then by size. My fingers skimmed over spines—business strategy, political biographies, a surprising amount of poetry. I smiled faintly. I plucked a slim hardcover from the third shelf, but as I pulled it free, something shifted. A thick manila folder, wedged sideways behind the books, tipped forward and hit the floor. Papers spilled in a loose fan across