Novel Wall Panel Novels & Stories

and what in the absolute fuck is that? Given its own space was this wall, textured with grey perforated panel through the foreground with large metallic X-shaped straps crossing it. The wall was on its own, and technically cut off from the main wall that featured a vertical black-striped panel with a crimson red accent lighting along the edge. “What’s all this? What do you do in here?” I had to ask, after a thorough inspection of the sanctuary. I’ve always thought he’s kind of a scary man, albeit he usually never seems like it. But what the hell?

A permanent mark from the rejection, her wolf's mourning made visible. She looked nothing like Lila Winstone. That was the point. --- The apartment was a museum of cold precision. Open-concept, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Windfall City skyline. Gray concrete walls. A black leather sofa that had never been sat on by anyone but her. A kitchen island made of polished quartz, completely clean except for a single mug with cold coffee in it — she never finished her coffee. An office nook with three monitors arranged in a curve, schematics still open on the central screen: the next-generation prosthetic knee joint she was developing for NovaTech's Q4 release.

“My first canvas after I returned to the craft was a tribute to him. It hangs in Mother’s living quarters. I have captured his likeness a thousand times.” “I pray for a daughter. I wish to spoil a little wolf-pup exactly as I spoil her mother.” I scanned the room, pouting slightly, choosing to pivot. “Rowan, do you intend to strip the wall-coverings?” “Babe, they are from the nineteen-sixties.” “But I adore the bold, aggressive florals.” “We shall negotiate. Many of these partitions will fall to create an open floor-plan so we can oversee the pups from any corner, but perhaps I can have the pattern replicated for a single wall.”

Soft rugs were scattered around in different shapes that were playful, comforting. Against the far wall, a reading nook had been built with shelves filled from top to bottom. Picture books for the little ones, novels of all kinds for the older ones. Damn near every topic that you could think of. Fiction, non-fiction, manga, history, lore, etc. A huge, cushioned bench wrapped along the windows, covered in pillows so fluffy even I wanted to curl up on them.

Alex watched Vincenzo's reflection in the brass panels—the line of his jaw, the way his hands were steady at his sides, the pulse that beat at his throat. The doors opened onto a space that was nothing like the estate. The penthouse was open, airy, walls of glass that looked out over the city. The furniture was modern, sparse, chosen with care. A kitchen with marble counters. A living area with a couch that faced the windows. A hallway that led to rooms Alex couldn't see. But what caught his attention was the wall. It was covered in photographs. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Some framed, some pinned, some tucked into the edges of others. And in every single one, Alex recognized himself.

I stand in front of the cartridge dispenser and make myself not look at it. The child has not forgiven me for stepping back. Good. Let it be angry. Angry is alive. The far wall splits, less like a door than a reveal. The panels peel back so smoothly that the dust on the floor does not move. White panels slide away to expose a black circular console sunk into the floor. Two handplates rest on either side of it, separated by a strip of glass. One plate is silver-veined. The other is matte black. Above them, a transparent cylinder drops from the ceiling.

They were totally unfamiliar and one that people would only imagine in their dreams. I was on a very comfy bed. The room was mammoth and the walls of the room were painted in dark charcoal grey paint which made the room fetching and spooky at the same time. Speaking of spooky, on the right side of the bed was a wall with three panels of windows, touching the floor. What made them noticeable was the haunting view from the outside. There were trees and trees and trees. Nothing else. The rest of the room was filled with normal things like the rug, black and white paintings at the head of the bed, vanilla scented long heightened candles which were lit and placed below the window, small heightene

“No.” “That’s the number they gave us this morning.” “No.” “There’s an option.” Derek crossed his arms. I immediately disliked it. “Tell me.” “We’ve got stock panels with almost the same coating at an LA distributor. Dimensions are smaller, but we can split those two bays.” I looked at him. “Split them how?” “Add a mullion.” I went quiet. Derek pulled up the shop drawing and drew an extra vertical line through the two corner bays. There were people who damaged things by accident. Then there were people who looked at something beautiful and proposed a crime with a red marker.

Before going i saw my reflection in the mirror and whispered to myself, “Damn, your girl looks so fine. I’m not about to play with this position.” In about 10 minutes, I arrived at Vans and Sterling Company — and boy, this place was flashy. From the security men dressed in all black uniforms who happily opened the doors for me, to the gleaming polished floors and sky- high walls, I instantly knew I hit the jackpot with this position. “Thank you, Jesus,” I whispered under my breath, fully aware that it was only through Him that I had gotten this spot.

The walls were bare, the paint was flat, and the entire room felt somehow too plain, lacking any warmth or personal touch that would make it feel like a real home. Nicholas walked over toward the far wall, his boots tapping softly against the floor. Aligned neatly along the wooden paneling were four tall storage cupboards, each positioned directly parallel to one of the four beds. He reached out, taking hold of the brass handle of the first cupboard and pulling it open with a smooth click before moving down the line to open the rest.