I've Been Reading Books Of Old Novels & Stories

The smell of old paper and dust filled my lungs. Somewhere, a clock ticked. Steady. Echoing. With a sigh, I walked towards the left section of the library. I might as well get over this. Minutes stretched with me browsing through countless old books, blowing dust off their covers. Some titles were faded beyond recognition. Others in languages I couldn't read. My fingers trailed across cracked spines. Leather. Cloth. Paper brittle with age. And eventually, I grew tired of searching and started organising some out of place books.

The store sold antique books and was often swamped with customers. However, one day before the close of work, Matilda found some free time. It seemed as if the flow of customers had stopped. A new stock of books had just come in and she found her attention drawn to a very heavy looking old brown book. She slid it from the shelf, took it to a reading table and began to flip through it. It wasn't that the book was old but rather, it had been printed in the old times, centuries ago. It was hand written.

It was a sanctuary of learning, a place where the past intertwined with the present. As we perused the books, Captain Rodgers paused at a particular shelf, his finger gently tracing the titles. "Here lies the chronicles of our ancestors," he spoke softly, his voice tinged with reverence. "Their wisdom and experiences are encapsulated within these pages, waiting to be discovered by those who seek knowledge and guidance." I ran my fingers along the spines, feeling the whispers of the past resonate through my touch. It was as if the spirits of those who came before were urging me to delve deeper, to uncover the truths and lessons that lay hidden within the ink-stained pages.

After completing the task, I pour myself another drink and head to the library to gather all the books that discuss prophecies. As I walk through the shelves of the library, I can feel the weight of the books in my hands. I scan the titles, searching for any that might hold the answers I seek. My eyes land on a thick, leather-bound tome with the word "Prophecies" etched in gold on the cover. I pull it from the shelf and flip through the pages, my heart racing with anticipation. As I read through the ancient texts, I begin to piece together the clues that will help me unravel the mystery of the prophecy. The words on the page seem to come alive, swirling and dancing before my eyes. I lose tra

— I close the book a little too fast and create a cloud of dust that covers my entire face. For this reason, I hate old things. I get up, dusting my clothes. — As expected from an old library, finding something useful is like looking for a needle in a haystack with nothing. —Yes, I talk to myself. I'm alone most of the day, ok? It is not such a strange habit. All the servants do it from time to time. This is possibly the last time I visited this old, mouldy place. I look for the last time at the old and dusty books. When suddenly in a dark corner, a fly is caught in a spider's web.

*FLASH BACK* (Ella explaining) Ella reading a book, that book is very old, by looking anyone can say it is more 200 years old, book is very fat with thick pages like the books using in ancient times. This book contains a different types of plants showing many advantages and there are some insects also. This is the book Ella’s father gave her telling this belongs to their ancestors and they are carrying, studying from it and filling their own research in it, Ella also doing the same.

Last two nights, I didn't get much sleep hence the reason why my eyes were red rimmed and itchy. Covering my nose I lifted up the fourteenth book of the morning and started to read its contents. Most of the books here were so old, layers and layers of thick dust were coating them. Skimming my eyes through the pages of the book along with my index finger, I looked for anything I could've found about the Elf Kingdom.

A reader? I feel drawn to the shelf like a moth to a flame. My fingers trail over the spines — classic literature, philosophy, ancient history. Lost in the titles, my eyes land on a beautiful leather-bound edition of Wuthering Heights. I rise onto my toes, straining, my fingers just brushing its edge. It wobbles and then falls from the shelf with a heavy thud that sends a cloud of dust into the air making me sneeze twice.

Clearly, i have underestimated my mate. But while going through the book shelf, I came across an old book, which piqued my interest. The back ws not really giving anything aside from it being an old, boring look. But while looking through it? It was a detailed book of almost every medical herb to exist, with how to care for it, what is it used for and everything in between. It was also handwritten, my best guess, by AIra's grandmother.

Some canvases were broken, as if in frustration. Next, I visited the library. Many of the books were old and hopelessly confusing. Most incomprehensible of all were the ritual books, which made up the bulk of his library. There were only a few novels, and judging by the dust, they hadn’t been touched in years. Evidently, Salem was not the sort of man who read for pleasure.