Novel & Cerita Face Of Book

The girl said. “Same here. I actually thought that this book wasn’t popular but you’re reading it as well. Oh, I’m Kayne by the way, Kayne David.” “I’m Natsumi Koga, it’s nice to meet you!” “Ah yes, you as well. I was actually about to ask if you always come here.” Kayne asked. “Uhuh, I always go to this café every time I go to town, this is actually kind of my spot, haha.”

The closer I peek at the book, the more I see the bold title. “The tighter the pussy, the greater the bliss: a dick’s way to wet land.” It has the drawing of a monster cock in front of it, curved in the shape of a banana. My body’s already hot as I reach for the book. However, the moment my hand lands on it, something like a machine chimes. It's only then that I realize this isn’t a book. It’s a panel designed as a book. My heart thumps as a distinct groan echoes in the study, startling me.

Boring, predictable, exactly what I'd expect from a man who treated feelings like a liability. A leather-bound book sat tucked behind a row of finance texts on the lowest shelf. I pulled it out without thinking much about it. The cover had no title. Just worn leather, soft from years of handling, a small dent across the spine like it had been dropped a hundred times and picked back up just as many. I opened it. My own face stared back at me. Page after page. My jaw, my hands, the curve of my neck, details I didn't even know anyone had noticed about me, let alone bothered to capture in pencil with this much care.

Yam sliced it open slowly, hands trembling. Inside was their book. “The Art of Staying.” Cover: a sunflower. A crooked shelf. Two mugs—one chipped. And behind it all, the suggestion of a fan, mid-spin. Franc stared at it like it might whisper back. “Feels unreal,” Yam said. Franc flipped through pages. Some with artwork. Others with Yam’s poetry. Their story—wired beginnings and all—now bound in matte finish. “I think this book breathes,” Franc said.

I've seen these enchanting eyes before. I couldn't break the lock I had on his eyes. I knew his untouched, silky smooth face that showed no expression, very, very well. His perfect pointed nose, perfect sharp jawline and those plump bottom lips, hypnotized me once again... I was mortified. Feeling like death was near. Is this a ghost? We slowly got up together and continued holding the book he was trying to return to me. I saw him search my face for a split moment and then adverted his gaze away.

Sliding my hands into the pockets of my blue boot-cut jeans, I at long last noticed the details on the dark-brown wood of the doors. There was a carving of a faceless mother with an equally faceless girl on her lap, her arm was wrapped around the child’s neck and she was holding a book as she did so, reading to her. On the edges of the semi-circular doors were more carvings of half-opened books, full-opened books, closed books, dancing books, and flying books… in every possible angle, arranged at these heavy edges like a frame. There was also the carving of a faceless man with glasses on, in a kind of dignified kingly stance with a staff in one hand and an opened book in the other.

My face, as straight as my spine. Uncle Niall placed the book back; his fingers ran across several books before clinging onto a red one—one that stood amidst the black books like it was lost—pulling it out. His eyes fixed on the dull white pages of the book. “Unfamiliar or threatening?” The flutters of the paper punctuated the lingering tension in the office. “What’s unfamiliar about my face?” He flashed a hideous, malicious, and demonic smile.

He nodded and lowered his voice: "Girl, can you stand up straight?" "Huh?" Her whole body stiffened, in disbelief, reaching up to rub her face, thinking: Am I not as beautiful as Rosa Roja? Why is his reaction so different from other men's? Come to think of it, maybe it's because people who read books like to act nice. "I..." She kept trying, persistently calling again. "Okay, don't call again!" That person immediately put out his hand to stop her. "My name is Libro."

However, when I reached the spot where the presence seemed strongest, I was startled to find not a person but a book. It looked different from the many tomes and manuscripts filling the shelves of the library. The book was leather bound, and instead of facing me with its spine, it was placed on the shelf with its front cover facing me. It was dark—beautiful and deep obsidian. The edges were threaded and swollen because what I guessed had to be antlers were sewn into the edges. In the middle laid a blood-red jewel that seemed to shine in my face with its own light. The book was pumping with energy. I swear, it sounded like it was whispering to me, calling to me.

She was holding a book in her hands, the same book from Gonzalo’s office—the one with the faded cover and the strange title. As she opened the book, the words seemed to shift, rearranging as if they were alive, just waiting for her to read them. Before she could focus, a figure appeared beside her. A man. His smile was wide as if his joy was uncontainable. But despite the smile, something was unsettling about him. His eyes didn’t match the expression on his face. They were cold and empty. Yet, there was something in his gaze that Eliana couldn’t look away from.