Marinettes Diary Box Novels & Stories

On the table beside the sofa sat a small box. A miniature music box. It was shaped like a pearl-white sea castle, with tiny towers carved like waves and a little silver mermaid perched on top. Sienna patted the lid proudly. “It’s mine.” I looked over at Angela. “Where did it come from?” “Someone sent it earlier.” Cold slid straight up the back of my neck. “Who?”

"No way! She's dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt again." Elaine sighed, exasperated. "It won't happen. She's had time to reflect. She knows she was wrong." Reluctantly, Yoel nodded. "Fine, but if she gives you any trouble, I swear I'll make her regret it." He shot the box a venomous look before storming out. I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. Wasn't my death ugly enough already? Elaine approached the box, pinching her nose against the stench. When she lifted the lid, her eyes widened in shock, and she staggered back.

You need the journal. Margaret opens the small box. Inside is a small book. The small book is the kind of small book that mothers of women who are gone keep in small boxes on Tuesday afternoons. The small book is a journal. The journal is the kind of journal that women who are gone used to keep on the nights the women who are gone could not sleep, in the way that women who are gone used to keep journals on the nights the women who are gone could not sleep when the women who are gone are the kind of women who are gone who used to keep journals on the nights the women who are gone could not sleep.

"Didn't I tell you that you're the only woman he loves deeply? One more reason I came here. I want to give this to you." She got stunned when the old woman suddenly handed her a familiar notebook that she was starting to recognize. To her surprise, it was the diary she owned way back in her high school days. The diary where she chronicled all her feelings to Thyago way back in her teenage days, the diary where it all began...

Noah's spear wasn't there. No protection. Mara went back and stumbled over the bed. The metal box she suffered from her hands and scratched on the floor. The lid jumped. All the noises tumulted. Even the people with the collars stopped in the middle of the movement. Mara lay down. Before her the contents of the box were scattered. No gun. No cards. Documents. Photos. Files. An old tape recorder. And at the top there was a single envelope. This was in handwriting: For Mara — if you have to see the truth.

I stepped back into my room and closed the door, turning the keys again. The pink fancy paper the box was wrapped in made me cringe. I tore it open roughly, not caring I was messing it up pretty bad. Cut out papers, colourful ones were in the box, in addition to a flash drive and a huge burgundy book that looked more like a diary. A white sheet was wrapped up in a black polythene nylon. I pulled out the sheet, what I saw made me gasp. I immediately began to regret that I opened the box. There was a blood stain on the white sheet, no one needs to tell me what it was and what it represents. I shut my eyes tight as I bit hard on my lips, drawing blood.

“Anyone stop in while I was on lunch?” She shakes her head. “Nope. No one I saw, anyway, unless they snuck in during one of my smoke breaks and was the quietest, quickest person ever. And invisible, too. Besides, I’m certain that box has been there since I started at ten. First thing I saw.” “And it’s got . . . What? Journals in it? Diaries, or something?” Cassie shrugs. “Didn’t look too close, honestly.” “Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser.”

The first to open was Thaddeus as he punched a hole into the box and began to pull out Magazines, DVDs, and even a Big yellow book with the title How to be a Submissive in a BDSM relationship? “What the…” Thaddeus yelled out. “What the fuck is this? Who sent this?” He said going back to read the label. All the while Reign, Remmie and I bit back our laughs. ‘Oh, my goddess I am going to piss myself.’ Remmie roared out in laughter through a link. I could tell that Reign was also tethered in as she too was laughing down on the link. Marcus sitting next to his wife was just looking down at her with love. “Go on open your box,” Mari said looking to her husband who opened his box slowly.

Hopefully her human counterpart won’t be a fucking twat. After sifting through the contents of the box for almost an hour, I felt no closer to finding anything that might help me. There were diaries from both my grandfather as well as his mate. As I flipped through the pages, reading her increasingly worrisome thoughts, the moonlight reflected off of shiny black leather.

The sound of the cabinet unlocking felt like the cruel punchline to a cosmic joke. He wanted to smash it—to destroy whatever lay inside—but he didn’t. Instead, he opened it slowly. Inside was a single small box. Within it rested a delicate jellyfish-shaped stamp and a thin notebook bound in dark leather. It matched exactly what Colton’s investigation had described—Marken’s old diary. Alexander flipped through it, page after page of emptiness. Then, on one of the inner pages, he noticed something faint—a square patch of dried glue, as if something had been torn out long ago.