Leaf In A Book Novels & Stories

I whispered. The book said the leaves were rare and only grew near the east garden—somewhere near the training grounds. I didn’t think twice. I got up, grabbed the book, and hurried out of the library before Princess Thania could return and stop me with another one of her “nap therapy” ideas.

I cursed to myself in frustration. Then I remembered. The code. 2212. But I was underwater. I clenched my teeth and opened my mouth slightly, making sure my nostrils remained shut. “2… 2… 1… 2…” I rasped, as bubbles flew out. I pulled the Golden Leaf again, mustering up the final crumbles of strength deep inside me. And it jumped straight to the palm of my hands like a magnet. My hands were on the Golden Leaf. Finally.

As she read the story, she picked up a leaf and began to chew on it absentmindedly. The taste was bitter, but she had grown accustomed to it. She savored the sharp tang of the leaf and let it invigorate her senses. The book was a romance novel, and Aurora couldn't help but giggle at the foolish behavior of the characters. She talked to herself as she read, lost in the story. As she turned the page, she paused to take another leaf from the pouch. Suddenly, she heard a noise outside her door.

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.

Libro Vitae whispered its voice harmonious. "Libro Vitae, please show me where Alastair is hiding," I asked. The book hummed in response. Libro Vitae became warm in my hands. The cover opened, pages flipped continuously until they suddenly stopped. The words on the page jumped off the paper, floating into the air, wrapping themselves around me. In a blink of an eye, I was pulled into the book. Light flooded my vision. Every sound echoed around me. Voices raced past me, speaking in riddles. Some shouting, screaming, others a dull whisper. Libro Vitae's voice became louder as I watched the trees form around me.

Why was she hung up on this? ”Hey, Lydia,” I nudged her shoulder which seemed to get her out of whatever trans she was in. ”Yeah?” ”Flip the page,” I said and gestured to the book. Lydia cleared her throat and flipped the page. The words were faded to such an extent that it was nearly impossible to read them. There was that branch again only this time it was broken in the middle with thorns sticking out on each side. They were a faded red which seemed to symbolize blood.

She kept her tone light, but her gut was doing flips. Christina didn’t answer right away. Instead, she pulled a small object from the folds of her blanket and set it on the table with the kind of care usually reserved for live grenades. It was a book, small and battered, the kind of thing that might get lost in a flea market bargain bin—if you didn’t look too closely at the cover. Leila leaned in. The leather was cracked, the pages yellowed like they’d been left out in the sun for a century too long. Stamped into the cover was a symbol: an eye inside a triangle, surrounded by curling, intricate lines that almost seemed alive.

Selene's POV My hands were busy with the tiny leaves in my tray as I gave it my undivided attention while separating the dried leaves from the fresh leaves . I was practicing an herb seen in a book. It would be used to stop diarrhea, which was good for a startup. I had sorted the leaves out myself, and I had found them at the borders of the pack just as Emily had written in her handbook. "Hey,” Joans tender voice interrupted my thought What the hell is she doing here?

It bothers me. I call out her name. She’s not here. Her absence gives me the chance to look around and see what she has done with the place. There’s a small shelf in a corner with different books. I find one paperback on the small table in the center of the greenhouse, in which Leanna has placed a bookmark. I open the book, curious to see what she’s been reading. It’s a novel. A romance. The bookmark is at a page with an explicit scene. As I flip through the book, I realize that she has dogeared all the pages that contain sexual situations. Almost as if she’s trying to learn.

She trudged up five flights, kicked her boots off inside, and froze. Something felt… off. She closed the door behind her slowly. The apartment was still. Not quiet — still. Air too heavy. The smell of something floral. Faint. Sweet. Wrong. Her eyes drifted to the bookshelf. The flower was back. No — flowers, plural. Two of them now. Deep crimson. Growing directly from the spine of Sea Glass Psalms, like they had rooted themselves into the poetry. No pot. No soil. Just… existing. Aria moved closer, slowly.