Kindle Paperwhite Cover Leather Novels & Stories

He pulled out a small, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. "Here," Elion said. "The real gift." Cale looked at it. He didn't touch it. "I did not authorize an expenditure," Cale said. "I used my royalty check. Open it." Cale picked up the package. He weighed it in his hand. "Light," Cale said. "Rectangular. Hard cover." "Just open it." Cale tore the paper. It was a book. A blank journal. Leather-bound, navy blue, with thick, cream-colored pages. And a pen. A heavy, expensive fountain pen.

“No emotional speeches yet. Sit.” She pushed me gently onto the bed, which I now noticed was covered in blue and silver pillows. “You’re not allowed to cry until after cake,” she said sternly. I let out a shaky laugh. “You’re unbelievable.” “I know,” she said smugly. She grabbed one of the gift boxes and handed it to me. “Open it.” I stared at it for a moment before carefully peeling off the wrapping. Inside was a journal. It was beautiful, a dark blue leather, slightly worn at the edges, with a silver crescent embossed on the cover.

The ones that had survived every version of him and every place he'd lived. Her finger stopped on a dark green spine, the gold lettering almost entirely rubbed away. She tilted it toward her. Walt Whitman. *Leaves of Grass.* The most worn book on the shelf — the cover soft with handling, the corners rounded, the spine held together by old glue and what appeared to be sheer stubbornness. She pulled it out carefully and it fell open in her hands the way books fall open to the pages they've visited most, the paper remembering where it's been taken before.

The romance was being squeezed out. "The journal" Elara shouted, her bare knees hurt as she fell flat onto the asphalt to pick up the black leather book that was lying between them. The moment her fingers touched the leather, the blank white pages inside the journal did not just move they started bleeding. A lot of midnight-blue fluid came out of the journal mixed with the cold rain water and formed a swirling indigo circle around her ankles. The gold letters on the cover of the journal; THE MASTER LEDGER: VOLUME TWO ​flared with a white-hot, blinding radiation that scorched the skin of her palm, the unique, un-templated human syntax of her blood-infused veins screaming in protest against th

She instinctively reached for the third and got it before Jack could stop her. “This one is from Malachy, isn’t it?” She set the box in her lap, contemplating whether she should open it or toss it in the trash. Deciding to ignore it for now, she set it aside next to the opened gifts. “I’ll open it later.” She grabbed the gift from Leader Nathaniel: a black leather case about eight inches long with a zipper and a black leather-bound journal. The black case contained a very intricately designed golden leather opener and a golden fountain pen.

It sounded like a sin. He lifted the flap. Inside, nestled in black satin tissue paper, was something that made his breath catch and his face bloom with a heat that had nothing to do with the apartment’s temperature. It was a collar. But not the kind for a pet. This was made of a sleek, impossibly black leather, so soft it looked like liquid. It was about an inch and a half wide, with a single, heavy-looking silver buckle and a small, gleaming D-ring in the front. It was beautiful, and it was terrifying.

As he grabs the orange books, he feels the hard cover and runs his hand on the embossed title – The Darkest Minds. He notices a weird symbol on its cover, it doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary. A book has got to have an interesting cover, hasn’t it? As he opens the cover to explore its pages, something falls out – it was a bookmark. He picks it up from the floor and he presses it at the very back of the book to lessen the chance of it falling again. He feels the pages and one can tell how expensive the printing must be on this book. It doesn’t feel like ordinary paper. It is definitely something a bookworm will appreciate for the rest of their life. It's to bad, he got his hands on the s

Either well loved, badly looked after or older than the room which houses them, there is something beyond the obvious that sets them apart. I carefully pull the first of four from its place, the leather flakes in my hand and I cringe and tense as I imagine what father would have said. Who am I kidding? He would never have let me get this close. Deep purple, swirling script and tiny inlayed gemstones decorate all the available covers space.

The complete volume of the World Almanac on the top row, varying books about business and commerce on the middle, and a compilation of untitled white leather-bound books on the bottom. The white books caught my attention quickly. Weird. It looked specifically custom-made. I was almost tempted to open one of them when I found a familiar-looking book placed singularly at the far corner of the shelf. It was bound using black lamb skin. The title written on the spine made me frown as I read it. ‘The God’s Emerald Eyes.’

It had a black thick leather cover and a golden seal on its top. “The Crow.” Lelia said, and a book with a bright red cover appeared in her palms. She turned to a page where the history and image of the crow was shown. Janeka got her mind back to why they were here and what they were going to defeat. “I see your mind is caught up with the black book.” Lelia said, chewing her lips. “That's what we want, isn't it?” Janeka said.