Burning Of The Books นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Slowly, she became upset. "How?" she asked me. "How, if you lit that fire and burned the altar?!" "I didn't light that fire," I said. "Mama, I tried burning the papers, I did. But something stopped me." "Who?" she asked. "I don't know what or who it was. They were in my head, telling me not to burn the parchments. And when I kept trying to light the match underneath them, it threw the match onto the fire and made it burst into flames. It - she - was speaking to me."

The bookshelves were thrown away from the walls and the desk was carved in half as though someone had taken out his anger on the innocent furniture. The scene shifted and again she was standing naked on a street. Again she heard the whispering and again she found a burning building. Walking through the door she found herself in a library, just as destroyed as the office had been. The scene shifted again and again. Always she was taken to a burning building and always she found herself in a room of books.

He wasn’t. From the terrace shadows, I watched him kneel, feeding documents into the flames. His face was lit in flickers, sweat shining along his hairline. The fire popped, spitting embers as he shoved whole files into the pit, pressing them down with a silver poker until they curled black. The smell was acrid—burnt ink, melted glue. I pulled my shawl tighter around me and leaned into the shadows. He muttered under his breath, words I couldn’t catch, too fast, too ragged. It wasn’t the language of control anymore; it was the language of panic.

The scent of burning sage lingered in the air, mingling with the faint musk of leather and old parchment. Inside the library, Kelda carefully turned the brittle pages of an ancient tome, her fingers tracing the faint Norse etchings. The firelight from the hearth flickered against the towering bookshelves, casting moving shadows across the worn wooden floor.

As I neared the secret shelf, I saw something was wrong—the books were in disarray. I took out the large book where I had hidden my small notebook only to find it was gone! My thoughts went back to the fireplace and how quickly Anora had acted the moment she saw me. I prayed to the moons that I was wrong as I quickly raced to the fire. The sparks and embers burned slowly as I could see the familiar text of my handwriting and the scorched remains of the notebook in the flames and to the stark realization of what she had done. Anora had burned my book!.

The flame caught immediately, bright and obedient. She fed the fire slowly. The first page curled and blackened. Ink blistered. Names dissolved. Isabella Whitmore vanished into smoke. Beatrice closed her eyes. “I am sorry,” she said aloud, though no one was there to receive it. The fire warmed the room, but it did not comfort her. Each document burned carried weight, not relief. These were not lies she was destroying. They were truths she had hidden, reshaped, rationed like medicine administered only when survival demanded it.

I'll make orders and you'll do them instantly. She was nervous, shocked, and wondered what she had gotten into. Even though she found him attractive, she didn't know it would happen so soon with dominance and power. She wants him as well, and he was irresistibly hot with his bare chest and the black pants he was in, she could see the hardness of his cock from his pants. She quickly moved over to the table where his laptop and books were kept to drop the tray.

I slowly got on my knees and opened the glass door. Nathan’s footsteps followed behind me. “Serena,” he said gently. “Are you sure about this?” I lit a match. The flame came to life with a soft hiss, its warm light dancing against the dark pages of the notebook. For a moment I simply watched it burn, listening to the quiet crackle of the small fire growing in the fireplace. Then I placed the journal inside. The paper caught quickly. As the pages burned, and the black ink was changing into smoke as the flames moved across them. Words that had once carried so much control vanished one by one, folding into ash.

The concert's atmosphere grew more intense by the minute, with everyone's focus locked on the stage. It seemed like I was invisible, blending into the shadows of the concert. The dim lights gave me a false sense of bravery. I moved to the beat of the music, letting the rhythm guide my steps. She moved with a rhythm that made the air between us tremble, every motion sent a heat through me that I could not contain. I reached for her waist and pulled her close, the sudden rush of contact hit me like fire, every cell in me coming alive.

I leaned closer, anticipation buzzing in my veins— Only to freeze. Books. Shelves and shelves of them, stretching from top to bottom. Old ones. Ancient-looking, with worn spines and faded gold lettering. Dusty, but organized with meticulous care. My shoulders slumped. “Seriously?” I muttered. Why warn me off if this was all there was? Then I saw it. A small, folded piece of white paper resting innocently among the books. My heart kicked. I snatched it up and unfolded it— And rage hit me full-force.