I've Been Reading Books Of Old Novels & Stories

Cela remains disappointed. "C'mon. It's not like they bought everything. They just thought of giving the books as Christmas presents apart from the corporate giveaways. You must know that your mother enjoyed your first book so much. Too bad that she passed before the second one is out," Nanny Rita continued. "You've always been loyal to her," Cela said.

“It helps... quiet my mind.” I nodded, understanding all too well. Especially since I had been reading a lot more than usual these days back home, my stepmother had not wanted me reading anything; she would have thrown me out of the house if not for appearance's sake, but books had been her way of showing control over me. “What do you like to read?” He hesitated, then held up the book he’d grabbed. “History. Legends, mostly. Stories about ancient packs and their wars.” A faint smile tugged at my lips.

The little old librarian with white curly hair, rimmed spectacles, and flowery dress smiles at me warmly across the tables when I pass her by and leaves me to browse. I must admit, I love the smell and aura of ancient books, the feeling of being surrounded by old, treasured pages. Back home my own library is my favourite place to spend time. Books retain some sort of presence from past readers, and it can be felt in the air all around me because I’m sensitive to energy vibrations in all things, be they living or not. A warm familiar sensation comes from books, like a gentle breeze on a hot day, or a soothing hug when you need it most, and that relaxes me. It’s because books are beloved thing

Something waiting. --- Determined not to be paralyzed by fear, I returned to the antique bookstore — to the stories, the secrets, the fragments of forgotten women. The elderly owner greeted me with a knowing smile. “You’re searching for answers,” he said quietly. I nodded. He handed me a leather-bound tome, its cover worn but strong — *Reflections of the Forgotten*. “Read carefully,” he advised. “Sometimes the past speaks through shadows.” --- I spent the night poring over its pages. The book told of women trapped in illusions, caught between worlds — ghosts of themselves, struggling to reclaim their true identities.

Elijah and Mina were sitting on the guest stool, while I was picking books to buy, All the books here were old, hard cover made from wood and hard leather, as for the papers, it was yellowish paper, some even use parchments and all of them were handwritten. I don't really have any preferences in picking the books, o I just pick anything that piques my interest, History books were mainly for information, and magic books and Spell tomes for my Maidens to learn spells and magic. I piled up at least 20 books only 5 of them were history book, the rest was Magic books, right now I was reading a storybook or Tales, why? because the pictures inside were alive, kinda like a harry potter book which ma

It felt like no time had gone by at all. I sure as hell didn't want to change this for anything in the world. I wanted to keep being this way for a long, long time, but even though I didn't want to admit it, I knew it was rather far-fetched. There was no word from Father, and everything was a little too calm and quiet. “What are you reading?” “I'm not sure myself, something from your collection? You have a lot of books.” “I had a habit when I was younger.” I smiled, looking down at the book she was reading. “Ah–good taste. The boy who lost his way, one of my personal favorites.”

It's just like it was after my father died, every part of this room reminds me of my childhood and how close I was to my father, I move straight to his study which is his inner room, and there is the old library, my father use to read different types of ancient books, I started checking out every book in the library, flipping from one drawer to the other, my hand is now dusty yet there was no sign of the type of book I was looking for, I walked to my father’s study table and went through the pile of book on top of it and yet there's nothing,

sign. To distract myself, I turn back to the shelves. The smell of old books was like a drug to me now. It is a mix of cedar, dried ink, and a hint of the outdoors that people brought in on their coats. Having the freedom to browse these stacks is a luxury I hadn't enjoyed since I was a child. I reach out, running my fingers over the spine of a contemporary romance by Alyssa Cole. I lingered on the texture of the dust jacket, lost in the cover art and the weight of the story inside.

Arielle We moved deeper into the library and the whole place felt colder than before. It was so quiet I could hear my own breathing. Kael held the old volume in his hand and used the other hand to pull out dusty books from the shelves. Most of them looked useless and some had missing pages. Some were written in languages I had never seen. Ifollowed behind him and kept touching the edge of my bump without even thinking about it. “Do you think there’s something else here?” I asked.

The scent of ancient paper and ink lingered in the air, invoking a sense of nostalgia. I looked around in awe, running my fingers along the aged book covers. They ranged from novels to obscure volumes on various topics, but what caught my attention were the rare editions on werewolf culture and history. In our world, where strength and practicality took precedence, knowledge was often overlooked, making such books exceedingly rare and valuable.