Journal 3 Cover Novels & Stories

I gestured to the couches surrounding the coffee table, where I'd arranged their gifts the night before while they were distracted with dessert. "Someone's channelling her inner elf this morning," Callum observed, his voice warm with affection as they settled around the table. I couldn't contain my grin as I handed each of them an identically shaped package. "Open them together." They exchanged amused glances before tearing into the wrapping paper. Four identical gasps followed as they revealed custom-made leather journals, each embossed with their royal monograms on the cover. "These are exquisite," Theo murmured, running his fingers over the supple leather.

What remained was quiet. Not empty. At peace. Hours passed. Sunlight filtered down in narrow lines. Animals returned to their hidden routes. The forest accepted itself again. Nothing marked the place. Nothing except a single object resting against the base of a tree. A journal. Its cover was worn. Its edges carried the marks of long travel. It should not have been there. Yet it was. The pages did not move in the wind. They did not open. They simply existed. As if placed with care.

Annual Review. Always on the same date. Always lasting an entire day. Amara frowned. "The same date from the calendar." Samuel nodded. "It can't be a coincidence." Justice Sani made a note. "We'll come back to it." Across the table, Nathan suddenly stopped typing. "I've found something." Everyone looked up. He held up a folded letter. "It was hidden inside the back cover of one of the journals." The paper had yellowed with age. There was no envelope. No signature.

"Rebecca." He stepped in front of me. The crack widened. Ancient mechanisms I hadn’t seen before hidden under the chamber groaned awake. Stone shifted against stone. Slowly and patiently, the pedestal opened into two halves. There was no treasure. No weapon. No ancient crown. Nothing but one leather bound journal kept in a small compartment, untouched since time began. The leather on the journal was black from age, but in perfect condition. The corners had been worn down through the many hands that had touched it throughout its years. On the cover... one symbol had been pressed into the leather.

He links to Nate, knowing they were all in the gym downstairs, ‘Nate, could you all come to the lounge? Celine wants to talk to all of us.’ Nate responds quickly, ‘On our way, Alpha.’ George looks to Celine, “They’re coming.” He strokes her arm while she looks at the ratty old book. It was an old leather journal with a dark tan leather cover cracked in multiple places but the floral patterns that had been tooled on the leather when it was new were still visible. It had been inexpertly repaired multiple times, with some patches of different coloured leather glued on, and more recently someone had tried to repair it with silver duct tape.

' I ask myself. And out of curiosity, I just found myself marching towards their direction. "To whom are the two of you being crazy for?" Emma asked jadedly to the two as we came in front of them. "It's Alaric is the cover boy of the magazine for 3 consecutive months!" Gertrude shrieks as she handed us the magazine she was holding. My eyes widened when I saw that the names they mentioned earlier are no coincidence. Because my siblings are really the ones on the cover of the magazine!

That Journal is both a legend and a myth. It was said to be made for the the primary Gods, Zeus, Poseidon and Hades. They commissioned the Elves to make it for them, but making the Journal of life was not easy. The materials that it needed to be completed was hard to acquire or impossible to collect. It was made out of the scales of the third head of the beast Hydra, the pages were made from the finest cloth paper woven by Arachna before she was persecuted. It’s bind was even harder to get,the threads are from the Sun God Apollo and he had very little hair left, getting a few more strand was next to impossible. But what was written in it was the real deal. It was a weapon even powerful than

Too happy. I place the photos aside, then reach in and pull out a leather-bound journal. Its cover is worn smooth by years of handling, the edges frayed. I run my hand over it, feeling the grooves of an etched symbol I don’t recognize. I want to open it — need to — but my fingers keep moving, needing to uncover everything first.

The journal feels heavy in my hand, and yet I carry the weight, feeling the warm sand beneath my feet. I place a towel down onto the sand and sit on top of it, setting my plate of food beside me. I grabbed my mother's journal and place it in my lap, looKing down at the leather cover. My fingers graze over the scratches and tick marks that are now embedded in the material of the cover, feeling each, and every individual groove that is scarred into the cover.

The cover was scratched and stained, the pages yellowed with age, he pulled it out carefully, his heart pounding. He ran a thumb through the worn cover He opened the journal and had his heart clenched for what he saw.