Books On Floor Novels & Stories

In the center was a table. Laying on the table was a book with its pages open. A massive mechanical arm was hovering over the book. A fountain pen was attached to its metal "fingers." It was writing fast. The sound of the nib scratching against the paper was very loud. Maya walked toward the table. She looked at the page. Maya Benson walked into the room unaware that the floor was about to vanish. Maya stepped back as a square piece of the floor turned into a hole of black ink.

He says, pushing me through the door and into the store. I lead him to the back room where Mrs. B put a bunch of comfortable couches and armchairs as well as lamps for gentle light. Bookshelves line every wall, stacked to capacity with beautiful leather bound books. There's even a bronze, gliding ladder that she doesn't use anymore, but she calls it her pride and joy.

Heavier. The walls were covered with tall bookshelves that reached all the way to the ceiling, packed tightly with old, leather-bound books. Some looked so worn it felt like they might fall apart if touched. The air was thick with dust, and every breath carried that dry, aged smell of forgotten things. At the center of the room stood a large desk, beautifully carved, almost like a piece of art. But what sat on top of it made the place feel… wrong. Strange objects were scattered across its surface.

I'm exploring the house and I happen upon a hidden library. It is breathtaking! There are books and shelves from floor to ceiling and it's two stories high. The ceiling is filled with beautiful molding and is circular in shape. The drapes are a dark midnight blue and velvet to touch. The dark mohogany and comfy carpet makes this place feel homey. I walk up the steps to the second story library to look at his titles. He has everything: encyclopedias, novels, romance, horror, even a manga section. I laugh at the idea of him sitting in here reading a manga.

I won’t try touching it again. Closing the box, I approached the shelves. I take out the book closest to me. Brushing off the dust, I realize it’s a strategy book, written in delicate penmanship. The paper is fragile, but the tome is bound with great care. The other side of the shelf seems to have hard-bound journals. It’s like an entire couple’s life secured in one small room. I heard a scraping sound, and I turned my head to see Robert picking up a stack of small portraits from one of the iron boxes in the corner.

He was not there. I checked the adjoining room. Empty. I returned to the study, already turning toward the door, when something caught my eye. A book lay on the floor near the far shelf. That was wrong. Severiano did not leave things out of place. Not books. Not anything. I walked over and bent to pick it up. The cover was heavy, leather-bound, unmarked. When I lifted it, my fingers brushed against the shelf behind it, and I felt a slight depression.

It's all the things my father was trying to teach me but without a wolf, it was useless information for me to have. “We need Witches Brew and Pack Health, not one of those gross floor ones though.” Sapphire waves her hand towards the books I dropped; she’s got her nose scrunched like she thinks the floor has somehow tarnished the books. “The floor is clean and those books are brand new.” I tell her as I walk away from the counter and grab three of each book from the pile on the floor; I even make a point of taking the ones from the top of the pile instead of the ones touching the floor. I can’t change that the books have been dropped.

I sat on the floor reading a pile of books next to me whereas Octavia was standing against the shelf flipping through pages of another manuscript. Yet, our finding was gradually zeroing in day after day. And we came into another doubt that either the diary was there or it wasn't. After I finished checking another book, I closed its cover and stacked it on top of the others. I got to my feet and stretched my arm over to retrieve some other books, but they were too high that I had to stand tiptoes. My fingertips could barely touch the spines. I decided to climb lightly on the lower shelf but when I was almost there, I lost my footing. And then I fell over to the side, knocking a row of books w

There are reports from the second floor and a few open manuscripts he was probably reading before he left. I walked around the executive chair curiously, nodding at how neat and tidy all the books are stacked in the large shelves. The shelves are floor-to-ceiling, made with frameless glass. It extended to the mini-living room, which is curated for rest. There is a silk velvet white sofa on the side, a rocking recliner chair on the side for comfort.

An​d behind it‍, f‍loo​r-to-ceiling s​helves. My eyes​ s​canned​, frantic. Le⁠a‍th​er-bound books​. A small bronze statue​. Framed ac‍colades. And⁠ then, on​ t​he middl‍e shelf, slight‌ly apart from t⁠he rest as if in i‍ts‌ own sacred space: a simple, thi‌n black frame.