Little Lady Book Novels & Stories

With her wedding approaching, she became the center of attention. Whenever people spoke about me now, they simply shook their heads. “Lady Leanora… What a waste of her title as the Royal City’s finest noble lady.” “Exactly. She’s beautiful, elegant, educated, and skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. However, with a sister like that beside her, what can she offer?” One day, Rosalind cornered me in the study and pressed her hand down on my brush.

"So cold," Lia muttered. The village was cloaked in a serene quiet that only deepened as dusk settled. Lia tightened her scarf around her neck, clutching a small stack of borrowed books against her chest as she walked along the dirt path leading home. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and distant woodsmoke, and the only sound accompanying her was the crunch of her boots against the gravel. She had spent a peaceful evening at the village library, poring over books on famous artists and techniques that might inspire her next painting. The librarian, a kind woman named Ms. Agatha, had let her linger longer than usual.

Both sides of the room were covered with shelves and they were all filled to the brim with books. But the wall straight opposite to the door was fully empty except for a huge piece of a painting of the mansion with a sunset in the background. The mansion was actually small compared to the background sky. And from the looks of it, it was probably painted by Sindhu. It was not a realistic painting. It was slightly abstracted. And like the ones in her apartment, the whole painting was done with reddish-yellow shades and blacks peeping here and there. "That's Sindhu's handiwork, isn't it???" Gautham asked out loud. But the question was actually rhetoric.

There were neat, small sticky notes poking out from almost every single chapter. I opened to the first marked page. In Maverick’s handwriting, there was a note that read: “Does page 14 mean the data moves faster if you shorten the string? Let me know if I got that right.” I stared at the note, my heart feeling so light that I felt like a teenager again. I looked up at him, completely stunned. "Maverick... did you buy a coding textbook?"

~Sarah~ She chuckled and sat on the bed which left me starled; no maid apart from Hilda had ever tried to come close to me. Snapping my head back onto my copy of 'Little women' on my lap. "So what are you reading?" She asked peering her head at the book on my laps. "A copy of 'Little women' i found in the library" I replied. She had a pure English accent. Looking at her she seem like she should be in college, 'maybe she too was sold off to work for Felix' I thought hate surged up in me as I wondered how did she end up in his house.

She carried her tray and immediately approached the table beside the glass window. This girl looks athletic and nerdy at the same time, I thought. I watched her open her black Jansport bag, and from it pulled out a book. She started reading the book positioning it inches away from her face. I noticed the cover of the book shows a little girl wearing black skirt, long white socks and black school shoes. The little girl is standing with, I think it’s an adult man’s shoes beside her and some clothes. From what I see the title of the book she is reading is called, The Time Traveler’s Wife.

I glance at the cover of the book she slid across the counter: a Catherine Bybee novel. “Oh, wow, Mathilda. You’re a fan of Catherine Bybee?” I smile, genuinely impressed as I open the ledger. “It’s refreshing to see a teenager with such classic taste. Most girls your age are glued to their phones, but here you are, diving into a good romance.”

After the party last night, saying goodbye to Ella, I asked her out for lunch this time, it was my turn to ask her out, she said yes. We went to our home with a big wide smile plastered on my face, this was the best birthday ever, how did she even managed to find a little that likes reading and books. She even work in the book shop, see my love for stories did pay out, we found her, we still didn’t know how to ask her about being a little, or being our little to be exact. But we did agree on taking things slow with her, on letting her get used to us on her own terms and conditions.

Seeing this, he set it down without a second glance. A heavy silence settled in the car. Winnie suddenly turned from her seat in front, flashing me a courteous smile. "You must be Anna Jovine, huh? Tristan talks about you all the time. I should thank you for looking after him these past few years." Her voice carried a thin layer of arrogance, the way a hostess might thank a maid for her service. Before I could even catch my breath from the sting of it, Winnie laid a hand on her stomach and said, "Tristan, my period just started. My cramps are killing me."