Original Burn Book Cover Novels & Stories

Now, I have turned those cinders into a blade. Bennett did not lose hope, desperate to hit back after losing everything. "You think you're the winner?" The email attachment showed my face crudely edited onto explicit images, with the backdrop of our family's hotel, sent to every young member of the prominent families.

As he grabs the orange books, he feels the hard cover and runs his hand on the embossed title – The Darkest Minds. He notices a weird symbol on its cover, it doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary. A book has got to have an interesting cover, hasn’t it? As he opens the cover to explore its pages, something falls out – it was a bookmark. He picks it up from the floor and he presses it at the very back of the book to lessen the chance of it falling again. He feels the pages and one can tell how expensive the printing must be on this book. It doesn’t feel like ordinary paper. It is definitely something a bookworm will appreciate for the rest of their life. It's to bad, he got his hands on the s

Johnathan asked him. “It’s back at camp. I can go get it.” Owen said. “No, you won’t be able to get out. Spelled. You are just as stuck in here as I am. Describe the book to me.” Johnathan said. “It looked ancient, and it was bound in leather. The pages were charred and there was some kind of beast on the front cover with the words carpe tenebras.” Owen said.

But when she pulled it free, her breath stopped. The book was unlike anything she had ever seen. Its cover was bound in leather so dark it seemed almost black, though in the right light it shimmered faintly with hues of deep crimson. Strange symbols—curved, jagged, and foreign—were etched into its surface, pressed deep into the hide like scars. No title marked its spine. A lock, thin and ancient-looking, sealed its pages.

"Let's see what was worth hiding." He pulled the first book over. It was a ledger of some sort, boring and financial. He set it aside. He reached for the second book. It was smaller, bound in cracked red leather. There was no title on the spine, but the cover... Jael went still. "Amalia," he said softly. "Look at this." Amalia leaned in, swallowing a bite of her sandwich. Burned into the leather cover was a drawing. It was stylized, ancient, but the subject was unmistakable. A wolf. A wolf with fur depicted by jagged, flame-like strokes.

On the cover was the word, “Bitten” Raven opened the book and felt a surge of power. The pages looked empty at first but a flash of light lit up behind every word as they appeared. This book had been enchanted. “This is from your father’s library. It contains the tale of the child born of the Bitten and the Born.”

"H-how? I remember perfectly well when you were swimming in the burning flames of the poisonous fire." Amethyst muttered under her breath, still analysing the black covers of the big, bold book that she knew she burnt a few months ago. Her hands trembled at its heaviness — at how fresh and old it smelled. Old tales and unknown prophecies were still lingering on every page she turned over.

Vivienne flinched when I closed the door behind me and locked it—this time I remembered to lock it—and tried to quickly fix her clothes. “Jacob, what…?” “Undress,” I demanded, cutting off whatever she was going to say. Vivienne's eyes widened when she heard the tone I used. “Hmm, I…” “Don't you dare hiding from me,” I growled, as her hands covered her beautiful breasts. “God help me, Vivienne. If you don't undress in the next minute, I swear I'll burn what you're wearing.” She just stared at me for long seconds not knowing what to do, her hands still frozen on her barely covered body.

It was not all, the cover was the eyes of werewolves. My brows furrowed in keen interest as well as something I can't name settling within me. Without thinking further, my hand took out the book and the front cover showed the face of werewolves with its eyes glowing in a golden hue. I brushed my fingers on the cover, mesmerized by the image. It was delicately printed and made.

And just like that, the covers of all four books–Nyllan’s complete works–were suddenly before me. The first book held the cover image of a seedling, a plant in its infancy; at birth. The second cover showed a green, growing bud, finding its potential and bursting through the surface of the earth. The last had been a withering blossom, brown and decaying in death. In tandem, they represented birth, growth, and death. An unassuming, unsophisticated testament of the life cycle.