Novel & Cerita Louise Carmen Notebook

Hope always did. Especially when you weren't used to it. One evening Camille arrived carrying a notebook. A large notebook. Filled with sketches. Ideas. Plans. The young artist looked nervous. Excited. Terrified. All at once. Jessica recognised the expression immediately. "What is it?" Camille sat opposite her. Then pushed the notebook across the desk. "I have an idea." The words sounded important. The notebook contained dozens of rough drawings. Portraits. Landscapes. Abstract concepts.

She knew the two didn't have a romantic relationship but she's not certain of what Carmina was feeling towards Sebastian. Carmina quickly shook her head as an answer then fished out something inside her chanel tote bag and handed it to her. "I guessed this is yours?" Sandra squinted her eyes on the pink notebook. She knew that notebook damn well to recognize it even if she's intoxicated. It's the missing notebook she's been looking for. "Where did you get this?" she frowned as she grabbed the notebook from her hand. "I saw that in Sebastian's studio. I apologize for reading it because I had to know if I will recognized the penmanship and I did"

Only then did Carissa open the note concealed within the water bag. The note read, [I am Carmen Kingsley, a concubine's daughter from Grand Princess Eleanor's family. I request you to join us on our journey, Lady Carissa. I have a request.]

The study window is dark. The blue notebook is inside. On the desk. Between the law books and the biographies. "Okay," I say. "Okay?" "Yes. I will read it." "Now?" "Now." --- We go inside. Damon walks to the study. He opens the drawer. He takes out the notebook. Blue. Leather. The pages are worn. The spine is cracked. He has read it and reread it and read it again. He hands it to me. His hands are shaking.

"Does Damien know about you?" "No." Carmen was certain. "Your mother was careful to keep me separate from everything else. I'm not in the box. I'm not in any document. I exist only in the things she told me in person." She looked at Liora steadily. "And in what she asked me to give you when the time came." Liora went still. "What did she ask you to give me?" Carmen reached into her bag. She produced a small envelope and set it on the table. Inside it, visible through the thin paper, was something small and flat. Metal, by the look of it.

“How did you know about Ancanta? How do you know I received that memento the day we met.” Aubrey maintained his cool as he cautiously drew a little notebook the size of my hand from his breast pocket. The notebook had a burnt corner, but it was still fully page. The journal appears to be ancient, with beautifully scribbled lines; it's Ancanta's diary, which I believe I've misplaced.

Blair was curious about the content of the notebook she had found but her uncle didn't allow her to know what it was all about. It's eleven in the evening but Ferran is still up and one by one, he searches the names written in that notebook. Simon Ferran and Reevecus Asyl Leviste's names were also written in that notebook. Almost all the names of the people written are well-known and popular in the field of business.

After consuming the cigarettes he returned to his chair. "Sir, I already have Miss Carnation's portfolio," Barnald called to him, who was leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. Luca sat up straight and reached for the folder Barnalad had laid out on his desk. He opened it and frowned when he saw the maiden's record. There has only been one name recorded there since its first night as niña. He shouldn't be surprised, but he didn't expect the two had spent every night together. "What is this?"

Her long ponytail bounces with each step, and there’s a determined look in her eyes, like she won’t take no for an answer. Before I can even ask what’s going on, she extends the notebook toward me. “Here,” she says, her breath still evening out from the short jog. “This has all my notes. Go through it carefully, okay? The test next week isn’t going to be easy.” I stare at the notebook, my brows furrowing. “Wait—what? Why are you giving this to me? You’ll need it too.” I hesitate before taking it, my fingers hovering over the worn edges of the pages. I know how meticulous Caroline is about her notes—every single detail is always in place, perfectly highlighted, annotated in the margins with e

“It shifts the measure of a life.” She looked over at him. “We were never trying to be permanent.” “No,” he agreed. “We were trying to be permeable.” She smiled. “Let it pass through. Let it become.” --- 11:44 PM — Bedroom The notebook rested on her lap. The one they had decided not to include in the official canon. Its cover said: Notes for After. In it were pieces. Questions that they had not solved. Phrases too gentle to be clauses. Such as: