Novelas y relatos de Franklin Library Leather Books

I declare what I’m looking for to an empty room, as if some remnant of the magic from my youth will drop them in my lap. If only it worked that way. I have no idea where to even begin. Each and every wall is adorned, from the hard wood floor to the high vaulted ceiling, with shelf after deep, black shelf. My eyes drift up the stairs leading into the alcove off to the right of the window. These books are my favourite. Every word painstakingly hand written, the pages hand bound in thick natural tanned leather. The gilded, gold lettering down the spines stand out crisply against the varied tones of black and brown hides. I half expect my father to stride up behind me and chastise me for even th

Each chandelier held within it a dancing flame, casting flickering shadows upon the shelves of books that stretched as far as the eye could see. The shelves were made of intricately carved marble, adorned with scrolls and books, and delicate filigree. Each book was a work of art, bound in fine leather and decorated with intricate, gilded designs. Amira paused in front of one of the large mahogany tables. “Put them here,” she ordered the servants, who proceeded to place the ledgers on the table whilst she looked at the library in awe.

The⁠ Ledger of Lost Things ​The pack​age s⁠at on the walnut table⁠ in‌ the c‌enter of the libr⁠ary li‍ke a coile‍d viper. It was wrapped in‌ hea‌vy, w​a​x-sea‌led bro‍wn paper, bound wit​h‍ twine that felt coars​e and ancient b‌ene⁠ath​ Celest​e’s f‌ingers. When she f​inall‌y broke th​e seal, the smell hit her—a⁠ mixt‌ure of stale pi‍pe to‍b​acco, dry rot, and somethi​n‍g s⁠harper, like metalli⁠c ink.‌ It was​ t⁠he scent o⁠f her f​at‌her‍’s⁠ office in Ohio, a place she had spent her childhood tr‍y‌ing‍ to forget.

Somewhere above me a window was letting in a thin slice of afternoon light, and dust hung in it, turning slowly. Then one book caught my eye. It was older than the ones around it, the spine cracked in a way that meant it had been pulled out and put back a hundred times, by a hundred different hands, over however many years the library had stood there. The Legend of the Lycan Kings. I said the title out loud, mostly just to hear my own voice do something normal, and pulled it free. It was heavier than it looked, the cover soft and a little sticky with age.

The windows faced the gardens, and the morning light was golden and warm and poured across the reading chairs like honey. She ran her fingers along the spines. Classics, histories, business books that probably belonged to Alexander. Nothing that looked even remotely interesting. “Where do they keep the fun books?” She moved to a different shelf where the light didn't quite reach. There were older volumes here—paperbacks mixed with hardcovers, spines cracked from actual use instead of just decoration. “This is more like it.” She crouched down, scanning titles. A thriller, a mystery and finally a romance with a cover so embarrassingly dramatic she almost laughed out loud. She reached for it an

The whole place had his scent and I almost gagged in disgust. I sat on the old leather chair and leaned into it. Frank produced an old ledger with cracked covers and dropped it on the table in front of me. I opened the book and skimmed through the pages that I had read before. I had no time to start reading the damn book until I opened it further to see a small rectangular hole made inside. Inside the hole was a black flash drive. Curious, I fished it out of the old book and studied it closely. "I read the book but there was nothing about how to destroy an underground world, but I am willing to bet that the drive has something that may help," Frank said to me.

The leather-bound notebook was a small rebellion. It was not his workaday tablet, nor the family schedule on the kitchen fridge. This was personal, discretionary, analog. He had bought it at a busy, dusty stationery store in the Village, the kind that reeked of ink and old paper, light-years from the glass-and-steel reasonableness of his day-to-day life. Its cover was a dark, plush navy, blank and awaiting. It was heavily weighted in his hands.

The librarian, a wise old man with spectacles perched on his nose, had greeted them warmly and invited them to explore the dusty shelves filled with ancient tomes. As Scarlett's fingers grazed the spines of the books, a particular leather-bound volume caught her eye. Its title, "The Prophecy of the Shifting Stars," called to her with an inexplicable pull. She plucked it from the shelf and dusted off its cover, revealing faded golden letters etched into the leather. Curiosity burned within Scarlett. She opened the book and began to read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. The words flowed like poetry from her lips, resonating deeply within her soul.

As I walked up to the counter, a grim-faced librarian gave me a dubious look. I said, maintaining a calm tone, "I'm searching for documents pertaining to the Harrington family." She knitted her brow. "Access to such archives is restricted. Are you cleared? After a moment of hesitation, I took Williams' business card out of my purse. I introduced myself as Mrs. Franklin in the hopes that my name would be significant enough to get me a job. Although there was still scepticism in her eyes, her demeanour softened a little. She said, "Wait here," and vanished via a side door.

She carried several leather-bound books, her arms wrapped around them protectively as she approached my desk. "Little luna," I greeted her, rising to take the books from her. Their weight surprised me—she must have been carrying them for some distance. "Did you enjoy the library?" "It was incredible," she replied, her eyes brightening. "I've never seen so many books in one place. The royal librarian was extremely helpful once she got over her shock that the new Queen wanted access to legal texts instead of romances." I set the books on my desk, noting the ancient spines with titles referencing pack law and royal decrees. "You found what you were looking for, I see."