Mother Of Learning Fictionpress Novels & Stories

Before I could go out of control, I calmed down and started rummaging each book. Back in our house, there were also tons of books that were placed on a small shelf near my bed. But father and mother made sure to throw away all my fiction books such as fairy tales and poems, varying from William Shakespeare and the brothers Grimm. The books they left were all non-fiction books that cover most of history, philosophy and language. I never went to any school so the only person who taught me was myself. Sometimes I would pay the butlers to buy me academic books because women are not ble to purchase any learning books.

I went back to being a bro, the smart one, the classroom perfectionist. I took refuge in my room in my book. If my father had been loving, kind, or comforting, he would have read me my favorite stories every night as my mother had. Instead, he looked at the distraught eight-year-old girl who just lost her mother and asked, “Aren’t you old enough to read by yourself?” to which I nodded and went back to my room, alone. For the very first time, I opened my little blue book, Fairytales for Fairy Princesses. Inside were stories I had never heard of and symbols I’d never seen. Even as a small child, I knew this was something I shouldn’t have, it felt forbidden, and above all, it was a secret. My m

Eleanor Cole. His mother. I picked it up. Read it once. Put it down. Picked it up again. It was short. Four paragraphs. Business formal, which was its own kind of horror — a mother writing to her son in the language of contracts. The relevant paragraph was the third one.

Yvonne noticed the disgust my mother had for me, and a small smile curled her lips. She raised her head and asked in feigned innocence, "What would you do if I was kidnapped, Mom?" My mother put down what she was holding and quickly approached Yvonne. Then, she enunciated solemnly, "I will not let that happen to you. If it does, I will make a portrait of the kidnapper the first chance I get and save you, trust me."

We walked through the estate to a building I hadn't noticed before, covered in climbing ivy. "This was Mother's pride and joy," Silas said, opening the heavy wooden doors. "She collected books from all over the realm." I stepped inside and gasped. The library was massive, three stories tall with books lining every wall. Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating dust motes in the air. "It's beautiful," I breathed. "Mother spent every afternoon here," Silas led me deeper inside. "Reading, researching, learning. She believed knowledge was the greatest power."

Hera cupped her cheeks as Ms. Reyes, their Creative Fiction teacher, drowned them with the ingredients for a perfect story. They’ve been discussing it for days but, aside from feeling bored and stupid, she learned nothing. She understood a pinch of what she was saying, though; however, more than that was just wishful thinking.

It's intimidating. "All of this was your mother's?" "Yes. She had the finest collection of books in Freeport and hoped to find more when she ventured across the sea." "I thought sea travel was forbidden?" "It is, but it didn't stop her from dreaming." I brush past him, entering the library, immersing myself in dust and stale paper scents. I peer over my shoulder. "May I?" He flicks his chin, granting me entry into his mother's space. "Was she a scholar?" I ask, approaching a large oak desk littered with notepads and an old computer.

Normally they’d say no, tell me to get lost and chase me away. That day was one of the best days of my young life. When my mother came that afternoon to pick me up, I told her about the game called dolly house. I said I could be anyone I wanted, I chose to be a teacher. She lost her shit, started shouting at me, screaming in one of her crazy rages that I was going to school to learn facts. It was one of the few times I was really scared of my mother. She said imagination was for fools who didn’t taste the flames of hell.

she whispered, playing with her fingers. “That is the silliest excuse I’ve ever heard, Zheira. Those books will not only help you be a good businessman but will also boost your confidence. Look at you, you’ve been concealing yourself with that jacket of yours. Do you think it’s okay? You need to learn everything before it’s too late. I’m warning you, Zheira! If I see you reading any fiction book again, I’ll confiscate your phone!” Zheira stole a glance at her mother’s face and saw a feature quite unlike her own. The thought of being adopted lingered in her mind yet again.