Papyrus Disbelief Novels & Stories

"We don't know nothing 'bout this ritual and you done burn the one thing that could help us understand it!" "Why did you burn them!?" Cyrus asked Mama. Mama refused to answer with the truth - that she thought the parchments were the actual ritual, and, determined to get me away from tempus summatum and Hezekiah, thought destroying it would save us. But Aza's words about the loa and fate were right: They always find a way to lead us right where they want us. But Mama continued to be silent. She refused to confess the truth about me being the author of these papers back in the 19th century.

Hence, there should be no objection to that. Yet, there was a sudden reply that mentioned the contributions were doubtful. Not only that, but it also showed that Caspian and the other disciples were suspected of possible fraud. From a certain point of view, that attacked Caspian and the others' credibility and character. Moreover, it was an attack carried out despite many facts being laid out. A hint of gloominess appeared in Caspian's eyes. Even with a large amount of evidence, their contributions were still doubtful. If not so many disciples witnessed the matter, Caspian could not help but wonder what would be written instead.

I took out the papers from my bag, it was the only thing I could do, my phone had died and I was getting bored to death. They were still wet, so I spread it on the ground to get dried by the heat of the sun. And as I watched it, I was hypnotized by the traumatizing words and sentences from the paper. I couldn't get my eyes or mind out of it. "Damn it!" I snarled. Stood up and took the papers. I wanted to tear it all apart, but seeing Pascal's name again calmed me. "He is not my cousin, he is not my brother…" I thought "maybe we are meant to be…" I thought about it for a while.

Pierre thought for a moment before he sent his reply, "Who are you? What do you know?" "You shouldn't care who I am, but I know things that you don't. I'm sure that Paisley conspired with others to frame you that night. This is enough." "Where is the evidence? Send them to me." "Do you think I'll give you the evidence for free?" "Do you want money?" Pierre sneered. "I will naturally give you money if your evidence is true, but who knows whether you have it or not? Perhaps you are just a scammer."

As I stood up, I glimpsed what I hadn’t noticed on my desk before now. A new piece of parchment lay on the desk with my name written on it in the usual way. I blinked, pausing in my step. Who dropped this here? Who is this from? A knock came from the door. When I didn’t answer, the door cracked open a bit, and Xavier poked himself in. I gave him a look, and he bowed, leaving with a grunt. I picked up the folded parchment to see a one-line note. "I have no faith in them."

“Seraphina, are you absolutely sure it wasn’t planted? Something to make you turn against Lucien?” I glared at him, anger flaring. “Of course, I considered that, Derek! But the journals are centuries old. The handwriting, the ink—it’s authentic. This isn’t some recent forgery.” Lucas’s jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” “Because I wasn’t sure who to trust!” I snapped. “And now you’re standing there questioning me like I’m insane. Do you know how hard it was to come to you with this?”

I couldn't believe my ears, I couldn't believe the man in front of me nor the things he was saying. “You believe that?” My voice was a whisper. “You really believe those pictures are real?” He said nothing and that was all it took for me to get his answer. Yes. Yes, he really did believe they were real. His disbelief stung more than anything else, I couldn't even lie about that.

“I already—” “And what proof do you have?” I cut her off, lifting the torn paper in my trembling hands. “You’re just saying what you feel like saying. But hear me out—I don’t believe you.” My voice is filled with defiance, but fear curls around every word. “Because here… I have proof. Proof that they don’t belong to Alexander. And I’m going to go with this. Whether it’s true or not—this is what I choose to believe.” It’s not certainty. It’s survival.

She clearly stated that she wasn’t ready to marry a cripple. The crowd kept quiet because they were now confused. ” How sure are you people that this was my hand writing? Clearly it has been forged by her” Paula smiled mischievously still hoping on the crowds support. At that moment, a document containing her handwriting and signature appeared on the screen again leaving everyone astonished. There was no room for doubt. It was Paula’s personal diary detailing her thoughts of running away in order to avoid unwanted marriage. she couldn’t deny it anymore but she was furious.

Somewhere out there, someone was deciding between rent and medicine; someone else was naming their child; someone else was signing a contract and believing a signature meant control. I touched the glass—the childish gesture tourists performed, proof they’d been somewhere high enough to pretend to hold the world. Cold bled through to my palm. I thought of Elias’ grin, the word he’d chosen with such pleasure: tricks. I thought of Cassian’s warning and filed it with the others labeled inconvenient. Then I thought of paper—how it cut, how it burned, how something so thin could carry a future the weight of a building. The file with its bold, teasing tab sat there like a dare translated into stati