Heavy The Book Novels & Stories

I got up from the bed and walked around the room, still no pain, how weird. I noticed the bookshelf and decided to take a look. There were so many books, some with older worn covers and others a bit more newer looking. I picked up a small red book and read the cover ‘A Lycanthropy Reader; WEREWOLVES IN WESTERN CULTURE’. I flicked through the pages and put it back on the shelf, a little too intense for some early morning reading. I picked up another one and read the cover, ‘The Garden of Eden’ by Ernest Hemingway. Not what I expected from a teenage werewolf soon-to-be-Alpha. I put it back and my eyes fell on a really older looking book. I pulled it out and it was big and very heavy. It looked

In the throes of nervousness, she nibbles on her lip and managed a timid, "Alright." Upon their eventual return to the comforts of home, Leo presented her with a tome of imposing proportions, entitled "A Compendium of the Supernaturals." The book's weight was almost a tangible representation of the vast knowledge it held, massive and weighty, and her hands throbs with discomfort as she accepted it.

Mena’ “Ugh” Why is it baking in here! Waking up from my sleep drenched in sweat. I try to kick the covers off,but can barely move because everything is sticking to me.Making my covers heavier in weight. I can’t even sit up It’s like I’m routed in place It has to be around 100 degrees right now.You would’ve thought It’s a furnace in our room how hot it is.Walls probably peeling get it together Mena starting to hyperventilate but after my panic subsided I try to gather what’s going on I don’t smell any smoke or see flames so it can’t be a fire so what’s happening right now

Weight. Pain. The sickening sensation of people going in and out of me while I floated somewhere far away from my own body. I grip the ledge now with numb fingers. Maybe I should let go. Let go of all of it. This life was never meant for me. Voices whisper inside my skull now. Loud and Persistent. Stop hurting. Stop fighting. Just end it. My heart can’t do this anymore. How long will I keep running into men like Bowman? Men who knew me as Salt. Men who fucked me once. Men who will never let me forget what I was made into.

he said, wiping off a trickle of sweat that slowly trailed down his forehead. “Yes, I'm fine,” he replied her. He went silent for some seconds as his mother spoke to him. “No, he left me alone,” he said, referring to Harold. “I'll find my way, mother, don't bother.” He fell silent again then added, “that's why I'm the next alpha. If Harold was able to find his way last year, I will be able to this year even easier than he did.” He ended the call and sighed, wiping off another trickle of sweat. The naturally high temperature of the school wasn't one he was used to.

She looked toward the living room, the familiar clutter suddenly suffused with golden light, everything ordinary made strange and precious by those three words. Books were piled beside the couch, spines creased and pages nestled with torn sticky notes. A mug sat on the coffee table, the string of a tea bag dried and curled like a tiny flag against its chipped side. Her application notes still occupied one corner of the dining table, pages fanned out in nervous stacks—she had been too superstitious to put them away, as if hiding them would tempt fate to change its mind. She swallowed hard, the motion tightening her throat, a taste of salt and relief lingering on her tongue.

Found a margin note in blue ink, halfway down: “the problem with wanting something real is that real things have weight. you feel them even when you put them down.” She read it three times. Then she closed the book. And lay in the dark. And felt it.

SKYE'S POV The silence that followed the messengers' departure was not the silence of peace, but the heavy, suffocating quiet of a kingdom holding its breath. The main hall of Nighthaven felt cavernous, the air still vibrating with the lingering echoes of the mountain’s rage. I stood on the dais, the ancient book still held against my chest, feeling the texture of the weathered leather beneath my fingertips. It was a weight, yes, but it was a weight I finally felt capable of bearing.

She said. "mmmm... Can I see the book? I mean if you want." The prince wanted to see the book. But Chenyin was scared to hand it over. "I promised to master that I- - -" "I won't open it. I will just want to touch it." He said. Chenyin gave the book to the Prince. The book was brown. It had a beautiful design on it. And it has also a lock on it. "Hey it has a lock on it. Did you notice?" He asked.

Peaceful. Vespera Hale walked along the mahogany shelves, trailing her fingers over the spines of the books. Philosophy. Strategy. History. She stopped. On a shelf at eye level, nestled between The Art of War and a first edition of The Count of Monte Cristo, was a book she didn't recognize. It had no dust jacket. The binding was matte black, textured like volcanic rock. The lettering on the spine was silver, sharp and angular. SAVAGE REBORN.