Kindle Paperwhite Cover Leather Novels & Stories

“That still doesn’t explain how you know.” “It will.” Ayla moved to the table and opened the leather case. Inside lay a book so old that even I instinctively leaned closer. The cover was dark, almost black, with faded metallic markings pressed into the leather. Some of the symbols had worn away completely, while others remained sharp despite the obvious age of the thing. The pages visible along the side were uneven, yellowed and thick enough to look handmade. I stared at it. “Where did you get that?” “From somewhere it was not supposed to survive.”

It is encased in old leather and there is a pencil attached to the side. The cover is blank, providing no insights to what might be inside, and my curiousity reaches new lengths again. After making sure I am not being watched, I flip the cover. What comes to view is...black. The entire page is covered in black, rough painting. There are lines here and there and...I flip the next page and the darkness continues. It is harder to breathe with each page I flip, because the darkness starts to look familiar, resembling something I have seen before. Somewhere I have been before.

I tried to reach it after I bent down. My brows furrowed when I saw my old diary, it was so old and I almost forgot about this. Slowly wiping the dust that covers my diary, I keep shaking my head trying to remember what this is for. "I used to do something like this?" I asked myself and slowly sat down on my bed. This journal is covered with a black leather hardbound but full of batman stickers?! What the fuck? I keep on examining the diary until I decide to open it when a message greets my eyes.

I choked out in complete shock. "Do you like it?" Ethan's expression was hesitant and I realized he might have struggled over this gift, unsure about whether or not I'd enjoy it. An early edition Keats had to cost a fortune, and this one was an early edition. Bound in green leather and still bearing faint gold embossed lettering on the spine, it was a work of art to me.

when Alex disappeared. He was gone for seven minutes. He returned without explanation. We had lunch at the small table near the bookstore window, which had the view of the road and the water beyond it, and he put a package on the table while I was reading the menu. "Open it," he said. Leather. Dark green, the shade that existed between forest and bottle. Bound properly, not the mass-produced kind.... the individual kind, made with enough attention to communicate that the object was intended to last.

Covered in thick layers of dust is a brown leather book. Ever so carefully, I pull it out and wipe the dust off with my hand. It is hard to see the lettering, but I see the familiar “W.” With everything I had, I inhale and hold my breath before blowing across the beautiful leather material sitting in the palm of my tiny hands. “The World of the Unknown. I found you.”

My exhaustion riddled eyes can’t believe what’s laid out before me while the recently uncovered book sits on my lap invitingly; I remain motionless as I ogle downwards in amazement at my recent discovery, shocked to my very core while I study its dust-caked cover. I blow a sharp gust of air towards the dated leather, hoping to clean it to no avail as only a small gathering of the collected debris comes away. I carefully run my hand over the crisp and dry covering, brushing the remaining grime away allowing the barely visible royal blue pigment to break through even more than it already had done before.

But when she pulled it free, her breath stopped. The book was unlike anything she had ever seen. Its cover was bound in leather so dark it seemed almost black, though in the right light it shimmered faintly with hues of deep crimson. Strange symbols—curved, jagged, and foreign—were etched into its surface, pressed deep into the hide like scars. No title marked its spine. A lock, thin and ancient-looking, sealed its pages.

The first thing I noticed was the notebook. Soft leather. Ivory-colored. Elegant but simple. My fingers brushed across the cover, and my heart skipped when I saw the gold foil lettering pressed perfectly into the surface. A.D. My initials. How were they able to do that! I slowly opened it, running my thumb along the thick cream pages. The paper felt expensive…smooth, almost silky. The kind of notebook you wouldn’t want to ruin with messy sketches. The kind that made you want to draw something worthy of it.

I stretch up on my toes and pull it out, and seconds later I succeeded like I always do when I put my mind on things. Sending a cloud of dust motes swirling into the air while allowing it for a moment to escape from the shelf, I blew the dust from the cover. There were no words printed on the front or spine, just a simple black leather binding cracking with age, and strange symbol I do not recognize.