Memoir History Novels & Stories

Their bond was the foundation of everything, a deep, quiet understanding that needed no words. But lately, Kaelen had noticed something. He was in the archives one afternoon, helping the new historians—young men and women with bright, curious eyes—categorize the records from the years just after the crystallization. He reached for a specific scroll, a record of the first Remembrance Hour. He could see it in his mind's eye: the rough texture of the paper, the slightly smudged ink from the scribe's nervous hand. His fingers closed on empty air.

" My mouth slowly curved into a faint smile. A single tear of blood slipped from the corner of my eye. In Claire's terrified cry, I lost consciousness. My mind drifted through pain and static. Then a white light opened somewhere deep inside my memory. It was ten years ago, a quiet afternoon in the woods behind the school.

My eyes fell over the genealogy of the kings and I grabbed it as well. There was a bench in the far corner that I had claimed and now was left for me at all times. I placed the books down on the table and started to flip through them. Once I found any mention of it, I left it open and went to the next book, making sure all were open to the correct time. I always found it better to have all information to be able to follow along at the same time. History was written by the victors. Biased to the people writing it. Details omitted that might say someone against a decision. So getting multiple views was important to get the whole picture.

CAIN POV She knows now. But how? She remembered something? It doesn’t seem like she remembered. It seems like someone told her. Now, I can understand why she wanted that book back so desperately. Miranda is the one who helped her. That book must be the ancient tales book so she can read the old story. But, Miracle is still stupid. She thinks history is true. I can see it in her eyes. She thinks it’s all true without any hint of lie. But what is history, but a truth with hint of lies.

Held until necessary. But now it existed. A memory restored. No longer just buried in one man’s mind. But carved into history.

Mark said pretty much excited and before I could say no, he was out of sight, "Hmm" I sighed softly,I miss her, I missed her so much. If wishes were horses, if only wishes were horses. Hey guysssss!!! Chapter 18 is out! Yes.. I know it took me weeks to update but remember something, I did anyways lol😝😝 I sincerely apologise for the late update,I hope you keep believing in my writing,"Memories" is an amazing story, I hope you stay put in this journey of memories. Thanks y'all for the support and encouragement, thanks so much. Thanks for taking out your to read this story, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Enjoy 😎😎 Don't forget to vote, comment and share. Thanks Xoxo

She read the short notice. ‘I should be a traveler at this point and not some professor and writer.’ she lamented, envisioning a flight before she went back to the dining. Ren re-emerge from the shower, his youth now visible although the baby cheeks are still lingering. ‘Did I ever bring Ren to Boston once? I don’t remember.’ “I’ll call someone tomorrow then.”

To him, that ancient human woman was just a painful, mortal memory lost to the fog of four centuries—he didn't see the operatic, eternal depth of their history together yet. "But surely," Rebecca pushed gently, refusing to give up on him entirely, "the emotional landscape of your mortal years shaped the Sovereign you became. The attachments you formed, the people you loved—" "The people I loved are dust, Rebecca," Lucian interrupted, his voice cracking slightly, revealing a flash of the raw, bleeding sorrow Maeve had warned her about. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the velvet of the chair. "And the man who loved them died four hundred years ago. I am unwilling to exhume th

**** ~ Flashback ~ Before heading to the library, Evelina and Rissa are on their way to the opposite end of the class to the library. Evelina walks and she stops from her path, she just remembers that there was something she forgot. Seeing Evelina's reaction stop, Rissa asks her. "Eve, what's wrong? Is there anything you left in the classroom?" "No, I forgot something. That actually, I wanted to return the book in the library," she replied.

As I walk, I let my fingertips skim the edges of cabinets, grounding myself in the here and now, in the familiar coolness of metal and the weight of keys against my thigh. I can feel his gaze flick around, taking in the labels, the order, the sheer volume of stored memory. “This is… a lot,” he says finally. “History always is,” I answer. “People think the past is a story with a beginning and an end. It’s more like a landfill.” “That’s… a cheerful metaphor.” “Cheerful isn’t my area,” I say dryly. At the third cabinet from the end, I stop, crouch, and unlock the lower drawer. The key turns with a click I feel in my teeth. Inside, rolled plans nestle beside each other like sleeping snakes.