Louise Carmen Notebook Novels & Stories

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.

“Just allergies. Dust in here is crazy lol.” Carter didn't laugh. He stepped closer, dropping his usual arrogant front entirely. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a crumpled spiral notebook, tossing it gently onto the piano bench next to me. “What is this?” I asked, confused. “My notes,” Carter said flatly. “I actually studied for once. I read the whole chapter so you wouldn't have to stress about teaching me the basics for our class tonight.” I stared at the notebook, completely shocked. Carter Graham... studying on his own?

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:

"Dominic found this near the west gate. It has your initials on it. And some... very interesting entries." I frowned, wiping my hands on my apron. I recognized the notebook. It was my old recipe journal from Seattle, the one I thought I’d lost during the move. I opened it. The first few pages were my handwriting, croissants, brioche, sourdough starters. But as I flipped through, the ink changed. The handwriting was a jagged mimicry of mine, detailing meetings I’d never had, longings for a man named "Caleb," and plans to take Liam and leave the "gilded cage" for good.

“Then you must have proof.” “Of course, I got proof with me,” Percy replied. He gestured, and an attendant stepped forward, carrying a sealed wooden case. The click as it opened sounded unnaturally loud in the hall. Inside lay a worn notebook. It contained my researches on every thing related mutated wolves. Its leather cover was cracked at the corners, darkened by years of use. On the inside cover, faint but unmistakable, was my handwriting. Percy lifted it with care. “This,” he said, “is Rue’s original research notebook.”