Romans & histoires Bookworms

This creature couldn't just be a figment of imagination, could it? Refusing to be disheartened, Adam refined his search, typing "Library with books containing myths and legends" into the search bar. The first result that popped up was a picture of a quaint shop called Dominor's Shop of Myths and Legends. Below the name of the shop were samples of books available for purchase. Adam scrolled down, his eyes scanning the titles, until they fell upon a book titled "Wolves and Their Subclasses."

Southpoint Pack never failed to make me feel like a fumbling idiot. The door swung open, somehow silent despite its size, and the smell hit me first. Old paper. Dust. Then something else. Ancient. Sacred. The libraries in Evenmoor didn’t smell like this. Sure, there was the scent of old paper, dust, and older people's perfume, but there was something beneath all that. Could it have been the magic that these people used? Or some werewolf scent? I stepped inside and— Oh. Books. Thousands of them. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall. More books than I’d ever seen in my entire life. More books than existed in all of Evenmoor combined.

The transition from "Ascended Monarchs" to "starving shifters" happened remarkably fast. For hours, we were buried in vellum and leather. We moved through stacks of ancient scrolls, but it seemed the Great Library of the Queens had a sense of humor—or a very mundane side. We found "The Little Dragon Who Lost His Spark," a three-volume set on the proper way to tax wool in the fourteenth century, and a surprisingly aggressive book on the ethics of herbalism.

she gives me a warm smile and just shakes her head before she nods and turns back to placing the books on the shelves. I quickly come across a book on bonds, but it takes me ages to find one about demons. I search through every book and shelf until, finally, at the very top, I spot a small, extremely dusty book. Although it doesn’t explicitly say “demons,” its title, “Monsters of Our World,” is the closest I can find.

They were both taken aback, Cwena looked up at the window to see if anyone was there and Gerey stared at the door, expecting anyone to come in at that moment. “I'm the book you dolts!” the book said in a boring, matter-of-fact voice, “you didn't expect me to be a dumb book that bears the tickles of an inked feather tingling on its pages do ya?!” “Uhm, no - no. Not at all,” Cwena put in mildly, trying hard to hide the look of disbelief at what she could see right before her, on the gathered hay. The book remained silent, twisting its lips like a female putting on a gloss, “Well, I'm Cwena Engow, and this is Gerey -”

“I'm sorry.” “No, you're not,” she said, her stare was already pressing down on me. Because annoyingly, she was somehow right. “She actually spent almost half of her day here,” the woman added. “Doing what exactly?” She stared at me again, as if thinking whether to keep this conversation going or not. “Reading of course, what else?” “What was she basically reading about?” “Almost everything,” she gestured towards the space in the bookstore. That was when my eyes drifted towards them. Almost all the book covers were about wolves and leaders. But there wasn't any picture on them, just words.

Zoe stared at the book, her fingers hovering over its worn cover, tracing the cracks in the leather and the faint symbols etched into its spine. It felt… alive. Not in a way she could explain, but there was something ancient about it—something that pulsed beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered. The Book of Life, her heart raced, every answer she had been searching for… could be inside.

Add my books to your library and read them. Thanks.

Her aunt gives her a small smile and nods, Celine finds the bookmark and opens to the page. The woven bookmark has a faded blue tassel and was made of woven threads depicting wolves running in a forest, at the bottom of the bookmark was an old wolf’s tooth with a hole drilled through to be able to tie it onto the bookmark. She puts it to one side to look at the page it had been marking. It looked much like many of the others she had seen flipping through. But its words had her feeling like her world was slipping through her fingers and she was unable to do anything to stop it.