Harry Potter Tom Riddle Diary Novels & Stories

It's my husband's dairy and ahad didn't hide anything from me till now so - I thought . I am already warning you and afterwards if you regret don't come for help ok bye - spoke consy. I will not regret and bye huhh - I thought. I quickly locked the door and sat with the diary on bed by crossing my legs. And opened the first page of it. A photo fell from the diary. It was the picture of A boy and A girl.The boy is ahad as I have seen his young adult pictures. And the girl I really don't know.I kept the photo on table and started reading the first page of diary.

Yet, there was an unmistakable presence that lingered behind. My eyes immediately landed on the disarray of belongings scattered around—a half-folded sweater draped over a chair, a pen precariously close to rolling off the edge of the desk, and a small leather book shoved clumsily behind a lamp. As I stepped closer, curiosity got the best of me. I pulled the book out, brushing away a thin layer of dust that had settled on top. It was a diary—Reya's diary. My heart dropped. I opened it carefully, flipping through the pages filled with notes from class, doodles of flowers and strange symbols, and the margins packed with her thoughts—snippets of poetry, quotes she adored, and random observation

Dayholt brought it for him, but forgetting all that Ryan had to pay for this. He wrote a lot of quotes, lyrics and some one liner too, there was one with a gardener, he read it, opening the 52nd page where a small dried lily petal was as a bookmark, “That gardener knew everything, he stayed quite, but how long? How long can he stay silent…” Interrupting his reading, he heard their front door cracking. He knew his friend came back, but it was too quick. He snapped closed the diary, hiding it under the bed when Darius came there carrying a white packet.

It was filled with wolf laws, training with Malachi, stories about Karani, my mother. I took out a more recent diary and started reading it, it was about magic and cutting out my liver. I closed the book abruptly. I let someone cut out a piece of my liver. This was too weird. I should read them all, get to know me but it felt like reading someone else’s private words. I closed the drawer and put the key back under the desk.

And so was Helen. A sucker for dark poetry, who devoured fairy tales for breakfast. In love with wicked things: tainted love, pale moonlight, midnight magic. Ever since she was ten years old, her heart had spilled its guts to a diary. A red one, with a shiny cover and a metal lock. It was the same one that her hands were reaching for this morning.

"Richard was paranoid. He wouldn't leave his darkest secrets unguarded." "He didn't guard it against me," I said flatly. The moment my fingers brushed the iron binding, the silver signet ring on my hand turned white-hot. The obsidian magic within my veins surged outward, the dark, thread-like lines rippling across my skin. The heavy brass lock on the journal gave a loud snap, the internal gears shattering instantly under the pressure of my unchained Eclipse aura. The diary fell open. I flipped through the pages, my eyes locked onto the frantic, tight handwriting of a paranoid tyrant. I read the entries from nineteen years ago, my heart hardening further with every sentence.

David's snoring in the bed beside me, oblivious to what had happened. His arm slung over the pillow where my head should be. But I'm here, in the dim glow of my phone screen, scribbling this out in my diary, because if I don't, it'll eat me alive. Today wasn't just a slip; it was a dive, headfirst into something I've been circling for months. Or years, if I'm honest. ***** At Zephyra Art Gallery, I didn't just let it happen. I started it. Me. Poppy. The good wife, the one who packs David's lunch with snacks, fruit and love notes. What the hell is wrong with me?

But now I could see the torment in his eyes. He ran a hand through his curls and sat down slowly, motioning for me to do the same. There was a small fire burning in a metal bowl on the table. Beside it, a leather-bound journal sat, its pages partially torn. “I didn’t know who else to call,” he began. “You’re the only person I trust now.” I didn’t speak. I only nodded, urging him to speak on. By now, I was restless, the air around us was tensed.

Ria hissed. Thanks for making my childhood dream come true, that didn't sound right. "Next. Why did you invite the school band? What about the church? They'd have been better than strangers."Kim asked. "My dear Kim, they aren't strangers to us. Well, you made new friends, didn't you?" Kim winced. "That's not an appropriate answer." Ria cleared her throat. "You see? I found something in her journal. She had found a person who looked exactly like her once gone lover and you know who that person is? "

I'm sure you'll know it's him when you cross parts with him* *If you find a girl or a boy(hopefully it's a girl hopefully she's lovable enough for you. You know what I mean) with the frequency, she will need the journal. Not this one. There's another journal. She probably won't be able to read it until she's ready, but when she is, the Harland collection has a companion text that describes the process. The companion text is called the Respondent. If the man has the collection, he may have the Respondent too.*