Novel & Cerita Face Of Book

‘Such an aligist,’ Melora said. ‘That’s a good thing, you know.’ ‘Uh. I need a refresh my insults.’ I skimmed through the words, searching for something useful or related to it. The symbol was a pair of eyes enclosed in a kind of compass. The book was colored and these eyes were white, with the eyelids—representing skin—pale as snow. It had to be it. “There’s nothing here.” Ian tried to look into what I was reading but came out confused. “You can read this sh*t?”

She stood on tiptoe, took that book off the third shelf, and seriously flipped through it. In the book, there is a photo of a man and a woman, the two of them embracing each other sweetly and closely, the blue eyes filled with the love of an extremely outstanding woman, with an extremely beautiful appearance.

Notes scribbled in tight handwriting. Symbols I didn't recognize. Runes, maybe. He was studying the curse. I kept flipping. More sketches. More notes. Then— I stopped. The page was crumpled. Like someone had tried to throw it away and then changed their mind. I smoothed it out. It was a drawing of a woman’s face. Beautiful. Detailed. Drawn with care. My face. My heart stopped. I flipped back through the book, searching for a date. There In the corner of the page.

He took the seat beside me shaking his head. “It appears as though I’m dreaming” he said, smiling at me, “So, what is this book about?” “Know it for yourself” I said. He smiled at me opening the book. I started to read mine. At some point, I felt his eyes on me. I looked up to find him staring at my face. I stealthily looked back at the book, waiting for him to turn away, he didn't even seem to breathe. Without lifting my head up from my book I caught his chin on my right hand and directed it towards the book that was laid open on his hand.

The evening breeze immediately caressed my face scattering my hair all over my face the moment I opened door leading to the garden. Just as I expected, he was there looking dangerous and handsome as always. As soon as I stepped in, he faced me with his dangerous grey eyes which was starting to turn dark. But what drew my attention more was the book in his right hand. My mouth fell open as I stared at the book I had been trying to find all day. I looked back at his face and saw him watching me intently. “come” he beckoned on me with his hand. I walked slowly towards him.

Alex stared at the book in front of him. This time around, he wasn't wearing any hoodie or clothing that could cover his face. He was just plain. His long shiny black hair was tied up into his favorite hair position - the ponytail. His sharp jawline could be seen clearly just fell a side view. In front of him were different books from different authors and at first, he looked like someone who didn't a get a thing that he was doing. He picked up the pen and got closer to the small table that was about his size - the sitting position and proceeded to read something.

It was like a whisper in my ear, telling me to keep the book close and not to let it out of my sight. I paused, staring at the book in my hand. It was old and worn, with frayed edges and yellowed pages. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it, yet I couldn't bring myself to let go. I turned it over in my hands, feeling the weight of it, and studying the faded cover. It was then that I noticed the strange symbol etched onto the front, a symbol that seemed to pulse with something, energy.

It causes something that was at the very end of the notebook to slip out. A portrait. My heart halts as I scramble to lift it up, expecting—no, sure— that I’ll find Anna’s smiling face on it. The pouty lips, upturned eyes, narrow nose, and pointed chin; they’re all so familiar to me that I think it must be her, because who else’s face would I know so well? It can only be Anna’s, or . . . Mine.

I hugged the her immediately “You came,” I whispered. “You know I would.” She answered. And in her hands, wrapped carefully was the book. She unwrapped it and my breath caught. My mother didn’t speak, she just simply let the cloth fall away. The air charged more. The pressure could be felt. Kael had a horrified face staring at the book. It was entwined in vines— Blood vines. The raw power from the book pressed against my skin, my lungs, my bones—everywhere.

Elias asked, shocked. Before anyone could answer, a bright light filled the cabin. Something appeared in the air before me—a book, old and worn, its pages flapping as if caught in a wind. It floated for a moment, then dropped into my hands. The moment I touched it, pictures flooded my mind: An old woman with silver hair facing a beautiful woman with black eyes. Blood dripping from stone walls as symbols glowed with blue fire. A man with a scarred face—Orion—holding a red leather book.