Original It Book Novels & Stories

Hindi siya makatingin ng diretso sa mga mata ng mga ito, but everyone greeted her boss who was behind her. “S-Sir. `Yung book ko pala.” Bigla siyang huminto at lumingon dito nang nasa harap na sila ng kanilang mga opisina. “Everyone Has A Story, written by the Indian Author: Savi Sharma. This was the author’s debut novel and was first published in August 2015. Sharma self-published her book, which quickly became popular and bestselling. Later it was published by Westland publishers. By February 2017 more than 100,000 copies of the book were sold,” sabi nito sabay abot ng aklat na iyon sa kaniya.

They looked almost fragile enough to break by just breathing on them. “This is probably what you’re after,” he said, gesturing for me to take the guest seat at his desk. “They’re copies of originals so I’m not sure if the information is as accurate as it could be. However, they should provide you with some new information that you won’t typically find elsewhere.” Copies? So there were originals out there even older than the ones in my hand? Seemed impossible to even consider. I took the seat opposite Elder Luke and began flicking through the first book. There was definitely a lot of information I already knew, general topics and ideology, but I could see there were some new things too.

The runt of the litter. And it deserved a chance to live. "Give it to me," I whispered and extended a hand. It took Ben another moment or two to register the words. To hand over the small body. Warm. So warm. Like its mother. I wasn't going to let it die. Not when Shiva had given her everything for it to be born. I was a goddess. I was a goddess. I. Was. A. Goddess. Magic surged into my veins. Flooded me entirely. Fully. Burned every muscle in my body from keeping it contained long enough to have enough.

He pulls out a thick volume. “This is written in the old language of the Empire,” He holds out the book to me, and I take in the details of the black cover “It’s the same language in which the holy book of the church was originally written, but not many people can read with without a dictionary, so it was translated.” I take the book from him “I should give it try.” I don’t want someone to try me on a whim and then fail spectacularly.

I frowned, my eyes scanning him doubtfully. “Are you serious?” He nodded “when you can't get the original, you try to get what somehow fits it just to hold on to for a while…..but that didn't work in that case” I shook my head, confusion settling “sorry, I'm a bit confused. Original….what are you talking about?” He leaned forward, my eyes following his every move “you're the original, My little blondie baker”

A faint line appeared across one of the blank pages. Not ink. More like light flowing beneath paper. It curved slowly, forming what resembled part of a circle before fading again. Valerie frowned. "It isn't writing." Evelyn stepped closer. "No." "It remembers." Valerie traced the fading line with her eyes. "Can books remember?" "They can if they were never meant to be books." Silence followed. The answer sounded impossible. Yet nothing about the Origin Book had behaved like an ordinary object since she first touched it. It had never simply contained information.

It was an extremely rare, first-edition printing of The Wealth of Nations paired with an original collection of industrial-era philosophical essays—the precise texts they had fiercely debated during their very first official night in the penthouse. Jillian opened the heavy cover. The aged paper crackled softly in the quiet room. But it wasn't the rare print that made Jillian’s chest tighten; it was what was written on the inside cover. Glued to the parchment was the original, burnt fragment of the first page of their companionship agreement—the section containing their names and the original title, The Silhouette of Us—saved from the hearth before it could turn completely to ash. Beneath it,

“This isn’t the original one.” “What do you mean?” “The original book disappeared decades ago.” “So... this is just a copy?” “One of the few remaining actually.” He opened the book slowly. Most of its pages had faded with time. Some had been torn away entirely. Others were covered with stains that looked disturbingly like dried blood. Serafina felt an odd ache in her chest. As though she had seen this book before. But still, it feels impossible for her. Darius turned several pages. “This kingdom was called Blood Moon.”

It wouldn’t do for him to act so smug upon seeing me flustered. “You’re easily startled, do you know that?” he replied with an eye roll. “Anyway, would you like to borrow that one? I don’t mind, and I’m pretty sure my parents won’t either. Just as long as you take care of it. It’s an original edition, so you’ll have to be careful.” “What is this book about, anyway?” I asked, walking towards the bean bag as I skimmed through the pages. It still looked new, though the book says it was published two years ago.

(HOW IT GOES) “DEATH Reincarnate.” Winona whispers the name of the book and the world that is both unfamiliar and familiar to her in an uncanny way and a contradicting sense. “This book, my life, and everyone that involves within it. Just how dreadful it all could be?” She asks but somewhat anticipating the darkness that it brings rather than the good and light that one can hope for. “This is the world and the book that those seven originals are imprisoned. Am I right, Carlos?”