Booktok Doorframe Lean Novels & Stories

The others had followed her lead and were all headed to their own doors. “I guess the saying, ‘You can’t judge a book by its cover’ works on doors too,” Beecher teased, poised and ready to open his own door. It was not painted and in fact looked to be made of distressed wood. “If there was any justice you would find a doggie bed inside your door.” Aquina blushed, knowing she had been caught trying to find the fanciest room.

It was rusted, dark, and half-buried in dead leaves and silt washed down from the fortress yards above. Brian dropped to one knee, reaching out to test the heavy metal bars. "We need to force this open without making noise," he murmured, pulling a short crowbar from his belt pack. "Vance, help me leverage the hinge." "Wait," I said, stepping closer and reaching out a hand toward the dark iron frame. I touched the center bar, expecting the cold resistance of locked iron. Instead, the heavy frame swung inward with a faint, horrible creak, resting loosely against the wet stone interior.

Then I redrew the road with the day's one honest addition in it. *INNER ROOM — [UNPROVED 40 FT] — MAP PRESS / STAIR-HEAD — [RECORDED PASSAGE] — YARD DOOR — [ONE TALLY OPEN ACROSS BELL; RECORD RESPONSIBILITY CARRIED] — LOWER CART STAND — [CLOSED AFTER BELL].* Under the new bracket, in smaller letters and not struck through, because nothing this morning had earned the right to strike it: *MIDDLE UNKNOWN.* The forty feet stayed the forty feet, a sealed door at the end of them and no page yet that lays a board of that corridor into any book.

“Keep walking your boots down. Two more doors. On the right side.” Our frames are pretty much completely alone in this dark hallway. It is as fine a territory space as any to state with my tongue that this wild friction has to stop forever, but my actions are driven by a force far stronger than human reason when my skin is near Kael, and my boots don't hesitate at all. My feet just continue moving forward until my fingers are opening the specific door his voice indicated and walking straight into what appears to be a small mudroom layout, with a wood bench for boot storage and iron hooks for heavy winter coats, and small under-cabinet lights that flash on the moment my frame enters the space

I had been sleeping in my jacket for a week so there was nothing to gather, nothing to slow me down. The door bolt was on the outside but the frame weakness I had been working on for the past twelve days was not about the bolt. It was about the bottom hinge, which had been slowly separating from the stone due to the moisture in the walls. Two weeks of patient pressure applied every night during the hours the guards were least attentive had worked it to the point where the door frame could be lifted and the hinge pin extracted if enough upward force was applied at the right angle. I applied it. The sound it made was not loud but in a stone room it had nowhere to go but everywhere. I froze. Co

Surviving. The door to the study is reinforced wood with a steel spine. No crest, no ornament. Just a quiet, expensive kind of strength. Elowen unlocks it with a key that looks ordinary and isn’t. Inside, the room breathes out warmth and lamplight. Leather chairs. A wide desk polished to a dark sheen. Shelves lined with books that aren’t for reading—they’re for reference, for rules, for precedents that can be turned into weapons. A map wall, half concealed behind a sliding panel. A decanter set that costs more than most people’s houses.

I picture walking freely. But the pictures are fuzzy and hard to hold. Just as I'm about to scream into the void for the hell of it, he opens the door. I didn't even hear a key or a lock click. He fills the doorway, like, the whole width and height of the door. Which, I guess, is pretty damn impressive. Wait, no, did I just complement this thing? No, it's worse. I think he actually looks hot leaning into the room, as even the light bends to his will. I've officially lost it.

I couldn’t be more stunned to see it disappear right into the book with no trace of his blood on it before he puts his hand down. The sound of a door creaking catches my attention, and at the same time, there is Garrett who moves back. I suddenly see the supposed shelf folding together as the creaking sound continues. Eventually, the shelf of books has been put aside to reveal a sort of door which had a polished color. I was amazed by the quality of the door which has a lot of inscriptions on it, making me wonder how much work was put into it to make it work. “There goes the second barrier. I have no idea how to crack the code and that is where you come in,” Garrett catches my attention with

It simply wasn’t in his nature. Ostensibly talking to Clare but really thinking aloud, he repeated some of the things he had noticed about the door earlier. “The pins for the hinges are on the outside, as well as the screws for the doorknob. That definitely doesn’t work in our favor. The door itself isn’t an exact fit for the frame, there’s a little bit of space all the way around. I think I can see some kind of slide lock or deadbolt.” “You’re right,” Clare said. “Whenever Big Daddy comes or goes, I hear him sliding the lock.”

A gap, barely visible, between the shelf and the wall. My breath caught. It was not attached to the wall. The bookshelf was not built in like I had always assumed. It was freestanding. Which meant it could move. I moved to the side, placing my hands on the edge of the shelf. It was heavy, solid wood loaded with books. But as I applied pressure, pushing experimentally, I felt it give way. Just slightly. Just enough to confirm my suspicion. This wasn't just a bookshelf. It was a door.