Diary Of An Oxygen Thief Author 소설 & 이야기

There was a small popping noise, and the diary suddenly snapped open. “April 5, 368 AI,” a cool, female voice murmured and I nearly jumped out of my skin. The diary was floating in front of Jester, the pages turning along with the voice as if there was actually someone who was reading the entries aloud. Now, I am not someone who spooks easy, but I got shivers imagining that the ghost of the previous owner—instead of a spell, as Jester soon explained—was doing that.

She marvelled at her erratic heart beats and wondered if they would ever get normal in his presence. As she searched her bag for the comb, she found the small handpocket sized diary that she bought in a thrift store a long time back. She opened it and skimmed through the enty pages of the book when a crazy creative idea popped up. Smiling to herself, she picked a pen from the nearby table as she decided to write about all the beautiful memories she had with Ronan the previous day. This way, she can relive them whenever she wanted without missing out on even the smallest details. Excerpts from Anya's Diary:

If my handjob sucked, then I had to make it better, learn the best way to treat a cock, and whip him up with something he’ll never forget. “Noah”—his moans played in my head as I searched the shelf for something helpful. [The Faith of the Dragon Lair] [How to kill a dragon] [The Art of Fireflies] [An Omega’s Journal] My finger paused at the last book, “An Omega’s Journal.” It sounded intriguing and also felt like it was written from experience. I pulled the book out of the shelf, dusting it off and removing the particles in search of the author’s name. No name, no copyright claims… Who would leave something this private in a library?

Grace- I went inside my room; I know I’m hoping groundlessly however I still opened my wardrobe to see dresses aligned, coded by colors. Of course, the money isn’t there… nonetheless I rummaged through the clothes and found nothing. I sat down on my bed sighing at my foolishness. And then… my eyes landed on a diary, with a huge ‘Stefan’s high’ written on it. I stood up and grabbed it instantly. What is my diary doing here? P---Phoenix… is he here? I heard a knock on my window, I was not wrong. I rushed to lock the main door as Phoenix entered inside my room.

“What mai—” The words died as I followed her gaze. A plain brown envelope lay beside her boot. My brows snapped together. “Who the hell dropped this?” I muttered, crouching to snatch it up. We never got mail. Not bills, not flyers, nothing. Wrong house, I almost decided until I flipped it over and saw the two words scrawled in precise black ink across the front: To Little Thief. My heart did a sickening flip. Little Thief. Only one person had ever called me that.

She set it on the ottoman and opened the latch. The lock was broken. Her breath caught in her throat. “No. No, no—” she whispered. The box was empty. Her diary was gone. Her most intimate confessions, written in the rawest moments of pain and hope. Every twisted memory from Russia. Every wound Cynthia left on her skin and soul. Every moment of self-loathing, every hesitant word about Damian… even that one vivid entry—the night she gave herself to him, trembling, finally feeling safe. All of it. Gone.

She was not alone in this world. After flipping through a dozen thick line drawings, she saw a more mature penmanship. Every word and sentence exuded the dignity of someone in a higher position. That was the last diary entry written by Theo, titled "Awakening".

"Eleanor, have you thought this through? This project requires total isolation. Once you head off, you won't be able to see your family." Jonathan Hensley's words pulled me back from my thoughts. My eyes were still damp. A lot had happened at home these past few days—nothing everyone at the institute didn't know about. I, Eleanor Shaw, was a fraud. "I know this incident has hit you hard, but you shouldn't act rashly. This concerns your life."

Stella–POV I tossed and turned; sleep eluded me. Frustrated, I sat up and made my way to retrieve the diary, hoping to find a way to unlock its secrets. I carefully pulled out the journal and, once again, attempted to open it using a hammer on the small lock. To my dismay, it remained stubbornly shut. Exhausted and defeated, I sank back, only to feel a hot trickle of blood from my nose— a telltale sign of stress. Scrambling to find a tissue box, I heard an unexpected click, and to my surprise, the lock popped open, triggered by a drop of blood.

" I lowered my gaze to the card again. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was looking for answers that didn't exist. Ryder had already told me. I talked too much. I slept. That was it. Still... I couldn't bring myself to throw the card away. Instead, I walked toward my bookshelf and pulled out the leather-bound diary I had kept since I was sixteen. Between pages filled with old memories, pressed flowers, random sketches, and thoughts I'd never shared with anyone... I carefully slipped the black key card inside. Closed the diary. Then slid it back into its place. Hidden.