Healing Hands Books Novels & Stories

“It is getting late. I will see that the Princess of Darkness plans something evil before finding a place to sleep.” Rhobart sat in front of Ayla, took her right hand into his, and started exercising her fingers, one by one. “Milton says that some nerves have been damaged, but with patience, we can heal your hands.” Ayla hoped Rhobart and Milton could help her because her hands were important not only for fighting but also for her magic. Ayla watched what Rhobart was doing. “Eluvene tried to heal my hands as best as she could, but healing is not her strong point. I don’t think she used her healing gift before me.”

I thought about that for a moment, and honestly, I didn’t have an answer. I looked at my hands again, where once there had been a well of power, and now, there was nothing. No familiar buzz of energy. Just… hands. Jayne reached across the table and placed hers on top of mine. Her knuckles were worn with time, her skin weathered. Her nails were short. She never painted them or let them grow out—always said it was easier and more sanitary this way. “Healing has never been about vows or powers,” she whispered. “It’s about helping people. Even when you don’t want to. Even when helping people means hurting others, or lying to make things easier for a family, or freezing up because you’re so scare

River's fingers danced across the spines, devouring titles that whispered promises of resilience and courage. "The Blind Voyager", "The Lame Warrior's Triumph", "Against All Odds", and "Unlikely Heroes" each resonated deeply, but one title in particular caught her eye: "The Story of Alero, Blind Healer". With gentle reverence, River pulled out the slim volume, its cover adorned with intricate, raised patterns that evoked the delicate petals of a flower. The book did not come out alone, it came with another document: a large parchment like the one in her dream!

At once, I saw something that could speed up our process with the cyaxin antidote. I quickly pulled it out, scanning the contents. I nodded, satisfied with it. I pulled out a few more books about rare plants and poisons that weren’t in the books I'd read in our pack. Then there were a few more books about healing, which I didn’t hesitate to take. There was also a thick leather book in the farthest corner. It was a journal of an unnamed Healer and innovator who chose to hide their identities for their own safety. There were notes of their few inventions that were lost to time, as well as unfinished projects. Written in it were the trial and errors and what could have been done, the repeated f

She thought he might be in shock. Quickly enveloping the injured hand between the palms of her hands, she called forth her healing magic, struggling to force the image of the gruesome injury from her mind and replacing it with a picture of a normal, healthy hand. It took a moment longer than usual, but finally she felt the familiar healing warmth and saw the golden glow that told her the healing was taking place.

: is she okay or does our Queen B needs rehab? I took her phone from her. What is this? I whispered, you tell me! She said immediately. Where were you last night Zuri, I searched for you, I asked and I came out, your car had zoomed off in the night, I asked Mason he said, you had migraines and you needed to rest and I shouldn't worry, only for me to see this when I woke up in the morning. What time is it, I asked It's we need a solution o clock, G answered sarcastically. Hahaha, how funny I responded, what do they mean by rehab? What is going on

“I don't care, I hissed in their faces. There wasn't a mirror in sight here, but I just knew that if there were one, then my anger would have been hot to break it into a million pieces. I tried to calm myself down,but no matter what I did or how hard I tried, it just didn't work. In a fit of rage, I did a quick sweep of the place. Alongside the other things they used for healing obviously, was a huge bookshelf not far away from where I stood. It looked ancient and old, like something my forefathers had used and passed down from generation to generations. Even the air around it pulsed weirdly, and without knowing why the hell that was so, I marched towards it I could feel the rest of the heal

It's been five years since I fell ill with depression, and I'm finally myself again. I can talk, laugh freely, and I actually have an appetite. The icing on the cake is that my husband, Ian Beaumont, and I are expecting our second child. At our New Year's Eve family gathering, Ian's godsister, Gemma Waverly, gets tipsy and starts making a scene. "I think it was about five years ago. I was dumped, and I took the car out for a little joyride while the surveillance cameras were under maintenance. "Guess what? The moment I stepped on the gas, a cat abruptly flew out of nowhere and slammed right into my hood. It yowled and bolted off." A faint, disdainful smile plays on her lips. "That damn

Why would anyone keep such things? As if in answer, a nearby shelf caught her attention. Titles etched in faded gold lined the spines of several books: The Alchemy of Venom. The Art of Extraction. Scorpion Toxins and Their Many Uses. She hesitated before settling on one—Venom as Cure: The Healing Properties of Toxins. Frowning, she pulled it free, running her fingertips over the worn cover. A book on healing? Here? In this place? The red glow behind her flickered, the shadows pooling just beyond her sightline. Watching. Waiting

Hi there, everyone. This is Shreya Sengupta, the author of this book, Healing Mr. Brown. Firstly, I would like to thank you all for reading and investing so much time in this book. Honestly, I know this is not the best work out there and this is definitely not my best work.