Burned Books Novels & Stories

I thought as my head turned to a small window in the room. I saw smoke. I ran towards it, and there I saw the book being burned in a small fire. I quickly ran outside, but it was too late when I got there. Fire consumed the entire book. Madison had burned the book. I cried. How will I ever learn about my pack and my mom anymore?

Jayce whispered, “And we burned.” BOOK ONE COMES TO AN END

Ever since what happened on Mon's 'execution', even though no one remembered a thing, Doctor Bai had asked the king to stop any form of literature in the kingdom. From books to tiny strips of paper as long as it contains a letter or two were burned down to ashes, allowing to legalize it only for the castle's own use. "My books! Please don't do this to my store, sire!" cried an old woman to a soldier who was gathering all the books that she was selling in an open area, preparing to get them burned. She was doing her best to stop them from ransacking her store.

"H-how? I remember perfectly well when you were swimming in the burning flames of the poisonous fire." Amethyst muttered under her breath, still analysing the black covers of the big, bold book that she knew she burnt a few months ago. Her hands trembled at its heaviness — at how fresh and old it smelled. Old tales and unknown prophecies were still lingering on every page she turned over.

And once we were done, and I pulled her into my arms as I waited for her to rest so I could go for another round, I felt my father nudging my mindlink. ‘Rowan…’ I groaned internally. I didn’t want anyone to disturb my time with my mate, but since he was mindlinking me just after we had our talk, I figured it could be something serious. So I answered, ‘Yes, Dad.’ ‘I had called my friends to check for that book like we discussed, and they just got back to me,’ he said. ‘Well, the same part of the book was also burnt in each book. And I’m guessing it’s the same with the books in other packs.’

He looked at it for a long time. "What?" Elian said, quietly, beside him. "One of the three," Dante said. "That the librarian gave me." Elian looked at the book on the shelf. A different edition — thirty years of editions since then — but the same title, the same series. "Still in print," Elian said. "Still here," Dante said.

Now, I have turned those cinders into a blade. Bennett did not lose hope, desperate to hit back after losing everything. "You think you're the winner?" The email attachment showed my face crudely edited onto explicit images, with the backdrop of our family's hotel, sent to every young member of the prominent families.

At the bottom, the old archives opened around me. Or what remained of them. Shelves leaned at impossible angles. Entire sections had disappeared beneath fallen stone. Books covered the floor, their leather bindings warped and split. Some had burned almost completely. Others had survived the flames only to be destroyed by water. I lifted the lantern higher. This was going to take forever. I started anyway. The first book nearly crumbled in my hands. The second had nothing readable left. The third was trade records. I kept going. My fingers blackened with dust and soot as I moved deeper into the ruins.

As well, as to the fact that what he was doing, there's no redeeming it back agai The book casings were empty except for a leather bound book of legends he was so obsessed of reading when he was still young. Of all his books, this one was the only one he was so attached of. He could not waste it. Before sundown, he ordered his men to get the mahogany casing and used it as wood to burn the dead bodies. He could not see any use of it while his men doubtfully followed his order. His men, like he, had the boon of the new age and things as precious as books were objects worthy of second thoughts. He burned it anywa When the cremation was done, it was almost midnight and his men were anxious as he

His steps were slow and heavy, each one weighed down by exhaustion and defeat. Soon, his footsteps vanished, overtaken by the lively buzz of the gallery. Although I had already stepped out of the shadows, he remained behind, forever engraved in a memory that was fading. I stood alone in the corner of the gallery, surrounded by my own paintings. Every brushstroke revealed the pain I once carried, alongside the peace and freedom that came afterward. Those endless days and nights spent wandering through shadows had transformed into the art before me, unveiling a wellspring of hope and strength.