Got Book Art Novels & Stories

Lamps hanging on the wall burned without flame, the pale, ghostly light stretching across the floor. At the center of the space was a stone altar and a book. My eyes narrowed at the thick tome. “Wait, is that our answer?” I asked. Getta ran her hand over the cover reverently. “This book has existed before your pack existed. It’s dangerous.” “Wouldn’t expect anything less, of course,” Bennett murmured beside me. Without another word, Getta began to place things around the altar. Herbs, vials, and bones were the things I could recognize.

So he stopped speaking and started creating. Tuesday afternoon arrived, heavy with tension. Nora walked into the school gallery for her solo art presentation, expecting the usual: the applause, the whispers of admiration, the quiet pride that came with sharing her work. Her pieces portraits of emotions, pain, and raw passion lined the white walls, each canvas a fragment of her soul. She had been nervous, but she had expected comfort, recognition, a moment that belonged solely to her. But one painting wasn’t hers.

She pointed at her and declared sternly, “DaraSmith, I just did a full inventory. The Carters’s medicine is indeed missing! And the missing items match exactly with what’s in your bundle! What do you have to say now?!” ***

"Yes. I swear it is entirely my creation. I also created 'Spring Sun' on my own. Many students here can prove that." Without warning, Daniel pulled an art book from his bag and slammed it onto a table. "What a coincidence, then, that your 'original' work so closely resembles the winning piece from last year's art show. From the colors to the composition, every detail is an exact copy." Rebecca's face drained of color. She recognized the book. She had taken it from my room. Aaron stood too far away to see its contents. He assumed Rebecca was reacting to the pressure. "Mr. Applebaum, artworks can resemble each other by coincidence. This could be an honest misunderstanding," he said in her defe

I rubbed my forehead, unsure of what to do. “Aren’t you going to say anything? Damn, look at this. So romantic and sensual. He imagined both of you when he bought this.” Nicole said, picking up the art book. “The pictures are out of this world, though the gift is strange. Robert Clarke is very thoughtful. I’ll give him that.” “You think?” I mumbled, staring at the picture Nicole showed me, and my eyes glazed over the sensual black-and-white art. It was a drawing of a naked silhouetted man and woman in bed, tangled with the sheets.

DIEGO'S POV The first package arrived at 7 AM. On opening my door, I found a box with expensive wrapping and it had my name on it. At first I was skeptical because you never know until I got Felton's message. Inside was the art book. The one I'd mentioned in an interview two years ago and it was a limited edition worth three freaking thousand dollars The card said: For your collection. —F Two hours later another delivery, a sculpture tool that was custom made with initials engraved.

His dark suit jacket was off. The white dress shirt pulled tight across his chest, the holstered gun stark against his ribs. Noah's hand shot out, snatching the art book directly out of Aris's grip. "We own our own galleries," Noah stated. His voice was a flat drawl.

I smiled broadly and extracted it from the shelf with both hands. The more I stared at the caption of the book, the more I thought of A. J. Baby. “The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene”, I whispered as I handed the book to the shop keeper absent-mindedly. “I’ll give you Four Thousand Naira for the 2009 Guinness Book of World Records, One Thousand Seven Hundred Naira for the novel and Two Thousand Naira for The Art of Seduction. We haggled for a while, and I turned to leave the shop and the shop keeper, so he could keep his books to himself. I stepped out of the book shop and walked two steps from the entrance, when he rushed towards me pleading.

It must be regarding his "family" I was cleaning the books when the "recent visitor" tapped me oN the shoulder. "Excuse me, do you know where the book *Art of oils* is placed?" It was an art book regarding oil paintings and components of famous oil paintings in history. I told him to follow me and I pointed at the aisle towards the right.

I had been working on my book, pouring my heart and soul into it, and I was eager to share it with him. "Hey," he said, smiling at me as he sat down beside me. "How's it going?" I took a deep breath, feeling a sense of trepidation. "I've been working on a book," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Derek's eyes lit up with interest. "A book?" he repeated. "That's amazing! What's it about?" I hesitated, feeling a sense of vulnerability. "It's about my journey," I said. "About my struggles with anxiety and depression, and how I've been working to heal and overcome them."