Novel Opening Lines Novels & Stories

There was no acknowledgment or any author's note. “That is weird…” Looking at the floor, it looks clean. It won’t be bad to sit on the floor. There is also no dust left laying on it. “Alright… I shall start reading you" I let myself be dissolved in the world that the book has to offer for me. With a great terror in the very first part of it, I closed my eyes. “When you see the sky, shall you say goodbye~” “When you see the wave, Shall the sails go by~”

He handed her his tea and she drank it and they stood at the wall for another few minutes in the cold that was already warming as the morning advanced and then she turned and walked back into the keep to the study and the desk and the blank first page of the second book. She wrote the opening line. It started: The break happened in January. She kept writing.

Nicola sat at the old wooden table in her mother’s house, the dim candlelight flickering over the pages of the book Cedric had given her. The air was thick with unspoken words. Her fingers trembled as she turned the page, her breath shallow. The words written in faded ink stared back at her. "The first step was made. The blood holds the key. The beast within is not a curse - it is a door. And I will be the one to open it."

"Alright, here we go." A smile tugged at his lips as he nodded, his gaze returning to the ceiling. A moment later, her voice filled the room, clear and soothing, as she began to read the novel's opening lines. “When Farmer Oak smiled, the corners of his mouth spread till they were within an unimportant distance of his ears, his eyes were reduced to chinks, and diverging wrinkles appeared round them, extending upon his countenace like the rays in a rudimentary sketch of the rising sun. His Christian name was Gabriel, and on working days he was a young man of sound judgment, easy motions, proper dress, and general good character………”

But as I turned the pages, I was met with emptiness—a void waiting to be filled with knowledge and secrets long forgotten. “Huh?” Curiosity piqued, I traced my fingertip along the edge of the page, only to be met with a sharp prick as the book drew blood. “O-ouch!” Startled, I watched as crimson droplets stained the pristine surface, merging with the blank pages like ink on parchment. With trembling hands, I turned to the first page, my heart racing with anticipation. And as if by magic, words began to appear before my eyes, weaving a tale of destiny and prophecy that sent shivers down my spine.

Not out of threat, but out of instinct as if new information meant new danger. Althea’s hands trembled as she lifted the first journal. Inside, ink swirled softly as if protected by an enchantment. The writing was clear, alive, and painfully intimate. The first line made her breath catch. ‘If this reaches you, my child, it means fate took a different turn than I hoped.’

My heart skips. “Okay,” I whisper. “That’s new..” The first few pages are written in a script that looks ancient but sharp, the ink dark and fresh as if it was written yesterday. The words don’t blur or shift this time. They sit still, waiting. I swallow and start reading. At first, it’s history. Bloodlines. Old packs. Coven wars. Vampires and wolves tearing each other apart and then pretending they didn’t. The usual paranormal drama. I almost relax.

--- The Line Holds Rowan’s journal, entry 271: “Truth no longer hides beneath ash. It walks beside us now—in tribunals and songs, in fractures and hope. I still dream of fire. But now, I see snow. And I wonder… how many Vaults are left?” “We opened the first one with hope. Will we open the last with fear?”

ARES Flipping to the next page was interesting. I was invested in the novel. The protagonist was crazy and it excited me. I kept itching to know what would happen next. I had made sure to ignore every call so I could finish the novel, but that didn't last for long all because of one person. Her scent flooded my thoughts the second she opened the door and it was stronger. I could swear she has gotten her wolf back. “Are you lost, sweetheart?” I asked, without taking my eyes from the book.

Little anchors. But this was not a note. The first line read: This is not a story that began with you. But it belongs to you entirely. I stopped. I read the line again. I read it a third time, pressing the pad of my thumb lightly against the letters as if the contact would explain something the words themselves wouldn't. Then I closed the notebook. My hands were not quite steady.