Butterfly Book Shelf Novels & Stories

"But you've killed it. I liked it when it was flying about." He picks her up, then sits, taking her on his knee. "I know, Princess. But in a day or two, it would have been caught by a bird maybe, or a spider. Or it would have died anyway when the weather got cold. They don't live long. This way you can keep it forever. You'll see. I'll make a nice picture for you, for your bedroom, like those." He points up to the framed exhibits. Shelley sobs. "But I didn't know they was real butterflies. I thought you maked them. Like Mummy maked dresses and things."

An​d behind it‍, f‍loo​r-to-ceiling s​helves. My eyes​ s​canned​, frantic. Le⁠a‍th​er-bound books​. A small bronze statue​. Framed ac‍colades. And⁠ then, on​ t​he middl‍e shelf, slight‌ly apart from t⁠he rest as if in i‍ts‌ own sacred space: a simple, thi‌n black frame.

There are reports from the second floor and a few open manuscripts he was probably reading before he left. I walked around the executive chair curiously, nodding at how neat and tidy all the books are stacked in the large shelves. The shelves are floor-to-ceiling, made with frameless glass. It extended to the mini-living room, which is curated for rest. There is a silk velvet white sofa on the side, a rocking recliner chair on the side for comfort.

He thought about the radiator at forty centimetres as the warmth at the level of the attending child — the honest warmth at the honest height, the body given warmth where the body was. He thought: forty centimetres is the attending height. The warmth and the light both belong there. He looked at the shelves. The low shelves at forty-five centimetres — the reaching height, the shelf the hand found without looking, the shelf the section had drawn for the corner child and that the library had placed here by the accumulation of the appropriate furniture over forty years. He ran his hand along the lower shelf. The books were worn at the spines — the forty years of children's hands on the books in

The place is booked, and I mean fully booked. I was trying to find my jaw the moment I walked in through the giant doors leading to this gigantic room. It was almost the same size as the arena, with floor to ceiling shelves that would require ladders to get a single book on the top shelves. A spiral staircase wrapped around the middle, with vines lining the railings and flowers carefully picked and arranged underneath. What really baffled me was the huge pond situated in the middle of it all.

Her voice was small and barely a whisper – the temptation to close her eyes and start her slumber was like a siren’s call for her. Upon her command, a flock of black butterflies immerged from the darkness of her room. They heed their master’s command and from the accumulated shadow within the flock, a floating egg was seen. It was placed under their master’s arms as if she was curling around it – protecting it. With the command being delivered, the flock of Slaughter butterflies entered Cent’s shadow, waiting to be called again – the taste of angel flesh still lingering their predatory instincts.

Cute. I went next to the living room. The couch was dark green. In between this and the television was a soft white patterned carpet against the wooden floor. The tall bookshelf I was talking about earlier was on the right side of the tv. I chuckled in amusement, seeing the books arranged in a color-coordinated way. This girl has a lot of time in her hands. I crouched down, noticing something else at the bottom shelf. It was filled with customized notebooks and journals. I pulled out a medium-sized one with a transparent cover. It was filled with watercolor painting of flowers.

Its diamonds glitter as light touches it. We stood up and walked toward its bookshelves. I traveled my fingers through its edges to feel its texture. The curio cabinet with glass doors screams elegance. Master artisan constructed the wood with an antique finish. It contains three drawers of various sizes and six shelves for storing books or display decorations. It has a stylish accent for each living room.

Behind the huge table was an equally huge rotating chair. To her right, she observed a huge shelf that held the amount of books fit for a mini sized library that it made her wonder if he'd read all of them. The shelf was designed so beautifully that it had a smaller compartment for smaller items like pictures and small trophies. There were about three windows which were all tight shut but the room was still freezing cold. Her eyes darted to the corners of the ceiling and she noticed two large Air Conditioning planted at opposite sides of the ceiling which was covered with Plaster of Paris.

It was a bathroom. The bathroom was very small. It only had a toilet and a sink. No shower or a tub. The walls were blue, and one dusty lightbulb lit the room. I went back into the bedroom. I sat on the bed. Teresa laid her head on my lap. “We’ll get through this, I promise,” I said. Hours later, I am woken up by someone touching my privates. I get up and back up. I look around, and Teresa is gone.