Booktok Lines Novels & Stories

The edges of the pages are black with age. "Give this to your mate," Kinslee says, shoving the heavy book into my chest. "It contains the true history of her lineage. She and Tola will need it." "Keep it," I say, trying to push it back. "I cannot carry a library while I am swinging at rogues." "Silly prince," Kinslee chuckles, her voice dry like paper. "The book will appear on your nightstand the moment you return to your bedroom. Now, do you have questions for me before I cast you back?"

No way he was talking about- "You asked me to find you." The room shifted almost as if it was just two of us ,every sound inside the bookstore faded into the background. My mouth went dry. Because buried somewhere in chapter twenty-three of Sensational Devotion was a line I'd written at three in the morning. A line nobody was supposed to take seriously. A line spoken by a heroine waiting for a man she couldn't forget. "Find me." My heartbeat slammed against my ribs. His head tilted, eyes never leaving mine.As if he already seen the realization forming,like he'd known exactly which book to bring.

A strip that I know very well showing two lines. My jaw drops as i realize what’s going on. . . TBC please leave a gem or a comment OR please leave a like or a review if you like this book so far

0076: Dear Handsome and Strong Evil Spirit 007: Treasure Hunt 0078: Small Dk Joe 0079: I Know It Is You 0080; This Is Your World! 0081: The White Lady's Request 0082: We Did Not Kill HIm 0083: It Was Never An Error To Begin With _______ END of BOOK 1

He strode over towards me, and yet again, I wasn't able to move away. "I think it's time we talk about why I'm really here," he said suddenly. "Agreed," I said curtly, not wanting to give too much away. "I read your book again. I have some notes," "Oh? You do?" I narrowed my eyes at him. That wasn't what I was expecting. "The ending for one, I didn't like it," "What didn't you like about it?" "The last line in the book was; 'you, me, and never us'. That was just so fúcking depressing,"

It sits in a section I rarely access, texts too old and fragile for regular handling. Rising, I cross to the shelves. The book practically hums under my touch, as if responding to some primal energy. Its title, nearly faded with time, reads: "Blood Curses and Ancient Lines." The leather feels warm, alive almost, like it's been waiting for this moment. The pages fall open to a marked section, the ink barely legible after centuries:

Back to the front cover. Kenneth gave me this book as a present. For drawing purposes, I know it's a sketchpad with white blank papers. Just ordinary... Yet now, I'm witnessing with my own two eyes how the plain abstract cover erased its colors, transforming into something red with cursive design at the center. Written in thick italic letters, THE BOOK OF STRINGS wrote itself as if there's an invisible hand with golden ink writing them. If I'm in my right state of mind, I would have screamed, tuck my tails, and bolt to ask for help. But I did nothing of those...

He had a desk before him and a lot of paperwork sprawled all around. On the other side of the desk were students. Nothing less than fifteen, on a queue, waiting for reasons Harold didn't know. Harold Girard walked to the last person on the line. An athletic guy with a face like a football that looked like he could squeeze Harold to pulp. “Excuse me,” Harold started politely. He caught his attention. “What is this line for?”

“Yes sir!” the men replied. Once more, Zephyr laid his eyes on the books, his gaze rested on one of them. The book was covered in a layer of dust and was made of bamboo. It looked unique. “Thunderfoot?” Zephyr muttered as he opened the book, reading its contents. A wave of excitement washed over him. He excitedly flipped through the pages, carefully memorizing the technique’s intricate steps.

His finger pulled me by the chin to meet his gaze. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” I stared into his forest greens, calming instantly as they traced over my features. His lips turned into a smile as he shook his head, as if he could read what I was thinking. “I’m not going anywhere.” His fingers stroked my cheek and I relished in the calmness it brought to me. Placing my head back on his chest, I felt Giovanni shift beneath me before holding out his book. He pulled the pages open and began reading ‘Dante’s Inferno’.