Morning Glory Notebooks Novels & Stories

Caelum: arriving Thursday at three, same as every Thursday. I looked at the notebook on Tuesday morning. I opened it to the "What Comes Next?" page. Every item I had written on this page since Ironveil had been either crossed out or still in progress. The succulent was crossed out. Southern Reaches crossed out and circled. The challenge ruling was crossed out. The Ashford action was crossed out, along with the entire cluster of items around it—Lena, the inspection, the Merra cooperation, the founding document, and the registration. All crossed out. The notebook's "What Comes Next" page was the most crossed-out document I had ever produced.

"... Ah. Maybe I haven't noticed your presence. I was really spaced out. Sorry." Mace just smiled at her sweetly and took out a black notebook. It has wide pages and it was designed for goths. The sheets were colored into black so it's kind of odd to write them down because the written phrases can't be seen in the eyes because of their pigment. It's like writing for nothing, but this kind of note can be helpful too. Writing down your secrets is possible and safe, the only way to read all the writings is to let luminous shine upon it.

The morning light spilled through the tall glass windows of Roth Enterprise, gold spilling over the marble floors. Selena clutched her notebook to her chest as she walked past the familiar rows of desks, the murmur of voices, the soft click of keyboards. Mondays were usually slow, heavy with yawns and coffee cups. But today felt different, like the air itself carried a pulse she couldn’t name.

When he rushed out, his spiral notebook fell from his desk. I picked it up. A pen and piece of blank note fall from the pages of the book. I put them back and returned the book to the desk. But there was something strange about that one piece of blank note. It reminded me of something. I try to think hard. Of course! I know now. The blank note is the same colour as the note that was given to Gwen by the guy whose identity is still a mystery. It was mustard yellow like this. It must be a common note colour these days. I wouldn't know since I rarely used such notes.

We have bacon and eggs for breakfast and a cold glass of orange juice. “Zari, hand these over to Seth later in school. Lili has been requesting this for some time but I always forget.” Mom handed me a small notebook. “What is this? It looks old.” I said as I inspected the rope-bonded notebook. “It’s a recipe book for potions. Come on, eat or you’ll be late.” She is busy packing up cookies that she and Dad will bring to their charity event today. “We are demons doing charity works and outreach programs. Are we okay?” I sighed. My Mom laughed at my remark.

They were the only flowers that bloomed during the night and wilted before the sun rose. I walked to the plant, but stopped when I felt a soft crunch. I looked down to see a couple of wilted and dried-out morning glories on the ground. What are they doing here? I picked them up and I immediately felt a negative flow of energy coming from them. They should have been fully bloomed, but they were dead. Why? Morning glories are also known as moon flowers. And in the list written by Zora, it was mentioned that Max wouldn't be able to touch anything holy without destroying it.

Nothing could bring Catherine back. The notebooks had been neatly labeled by month and year, which made them easy enough to locate. There were two of them, both with dark green covers, their mottled spines worn where silverfish had chewed away at the edges. I carried them downstairs to the study, switched on the light, and began to read. The pages were A4, ruled with precision, each entry marked with the date and time in the margin. Assessment details, observations, medical notes—everything carefully recorded.

She pulled the weathered black notebook into the exact center of the morning light. The cardboard cover was scuffed at the corners, the edges frayed from the damp weeks she had spent hiding it inside the lining of her coat while relegated to the secondary quarters. This wasn't a sleek piece of aluminum hardware synced to a corporate cloud. It carried no network cards. It had no biometric bypasses that a machine-learning script could mimic or manipulate. It was a completely analog fortress of raw truth.

The leather-bound notebook was a small rebellion. It was not his workaday tablet, nor the family schedule on the kitchen fridge. This was personal, discretionary, analog. He had bought it at a busy, dusty stationery store in the Village, the kind that reeked of ink and old paper, light-years from the glass-and-steel reasonableness of his day-to-day life. Its cover was a dark, plush navy, blank and awaiting. It was heavily weighted in his hands.

Bellezza Ezza - Beads of sweat can be seen slowly forming on my forehead as the pounding of my heart worsens. I couldn’t help but switch my eyes between the tall glass cases filled with different flavors of doughnuts and the notebook filled with the notes I have. "Come on," I whispered, lowly. "Let's get this done with." I slightly turned around, swiftly scanning my surroundings. I cannot get caught. I just can't. The notes were highlighted for the most part. The green highlights were for the formulas, the blue for the article’s authors, and the red for the important terminologies.