Come As You Are Book Review Mga Nobela at Kwento

“You’re insane.” Joe chuckled. “That is what people say when they are afraid of the truth.” He opened the book and flipped through the pages slowly. Symbols filled the paper. Drawings. Notes written in a language I did not understand. “You think you are ordinary,” he continued. “That you were born, lived a normal life, and somehow ended up in the middle of powerful people by accident.” “I didn’t ask for any of this,” I snapped. “I know,” he said calmly. “That is what makes you perfect.”

My palm pressed against my chest, trying to still the rapid thumping of my heart, trying to anchor myself in reality. It was a book I’d seen raved about online. Reviews called it brilliant, seductive, thrilling. So when I asked Dante to have someone pick it up for me, I hadn’t expected… this. I had no idea I was requesting something so vividly erotic, so brazenly explicit.

I stood in the psychology section for a long time, and in the end, I bought a book called Post-Traumatic Growth. The book was thick, and I read about ten pages a day. By the thirtieth day, I wrote a line on a blank page. "I'm not a victim. I'm a survivor." Levi came over to my place for dinner and noticed the book. "How's it going?" he asked. "I'm learning," I answered. "Learning how to breathe again." A year later, the book signing event for my new release took place at the city library. The book recounted my actual experiences and was published under a pen name.

I apologize to anyone this might offend, but I just wanted to try something different. This book is not ideal for anyone with fragile moral sensibilities who might be easily triggered by the actions and decisions of the main characters. This is all strictly for entertainment. I do not condone nor do I excuse some of the actions of the characters. I’m merely writing to entertain my readers! You’re free to stop reading at any time you feel uncomfortable. I apologize in advance because it is not my desire to harm your sensibilities. Furthermore, I was meticulous in my research for this book, especially when it comes to BDSM but I am merely mortal. I take full accountability for any errors one m

♱ •⋅ 1750 A.C. ⋅• ♱ I needed time, and I needed to be sure. Even though it was a vivid dream, I needed to be sure that I wouldn't alter things too much; otherwise, everything would spiral out of control. I blinked a few times in front of the mirror. It was still surprising how attractive Asra was. I had envied her when I first read the book, but now, seeing her delicate face, her naturally rosy lips, and how she seemed meticulously designed, it only increased my envy.

The title interested Anthony, he nodded at Yugo in appreciation as he received the book that was handed to him. ‘Rogue, Not Rough.’ It read. “Trust me when I say, it took me many years of research to know these things. If you want to know, you would have to embrace the reality of what you are. You are not fiction. Stop reading those fictious story that tells you that you are what you aren’t. They are just figment of the human mind but you,” Yugo pointed at him then tapped his own chest, “We have seen it happen. We have felt it. So, what do you think about reading books from people who have felt it too? I think…”

Yeah, I looked that fucking good but obviously better in real life based off on their reactions right now. Would I call myself a narcissist for loving myself that much? Nah, but I would say I was confident in my looks and in my abilities. Besides, wasn't it a wise person who once talked about the importance of self love? "Y-Y-You-'re J-J-Jo..." "Do you guys happen to have any books by Spencer Carter?" I asked the lady behind the counter with my usual killer smile on my face and that was when I heard someone drop to the floor.

Still, I love the author, Priam, but his book this time is confusing. His book was always been things about the morphers; how they live, their traditions and more. But this is the first time I came across something like this and for one thing, it is still, Priam's book. It's still early for my shift at the cafe, so I reach for my phone and type the title of the book. "The...first....born." I muttered typing every letter with my heart beating fast.

I deeply appreciate your presence with me throughout this whole process, thank you genuinely from the depths of my heart. This book is incredibly important to me, not just because it's my first story, but also due to your choice to read it. You assisted my characters in discovering their voice. You brought my dream to life! You've demonstrated that narratives, even those written with some doubt and optimistic expectation, can resonate with someone—can resonate with you.

As his former consorts. But something was different this time. I could sense it in my veins. A flow that I could not understand, a force that seemed to hum beneath the surface of my skin from the moment I touched that book. He thought I was fragile. He thought I would flex and break like the others. But I had seen too much, endured too much, to have it kill me. I had to play my part. Smile when told. Nod when ordered. But beneath, I would hone my mind like steel.