Romans & histoires Rachel Weaver: Books

The isolation that had once been about survival was now about peace. Raven sat on the porch swing, a laptop balanced on her knees as she worked on the book that had become her passion project. The working title was "Justice Served Cold: A Story of Redemption and Revenge," though she was still debating whether to publish it under her real name or maintain the fiction of Raven Steele.

I wandered between the shelves, letting familiar smells of old paper calm my thoughts. History. Law. Military strategy. Medicinal herbs. Werewolf bloodlines. I stopped… bloodlines. My fingers hovered over a thick leather volume but before I could pull it free— “Looking for something?” I nearly jumped. I turned to see Raven standing at the end of the aisle, she wore a cream sweater today instead of yesterday’s blouse, her dark hair gathered loosely over one shoulder. She looked comfortable, warm and approachable like someone who belonged here. “I didn’t hear you.”

If I need companionship, I should just get a dog. “Hiking Machu Pichu. Attending Carnivale in Rio de Janeiro. Cliff-diving at Maunawili Falls. Backpacking in Europe.” Rachel closed the folder and set it on the table beside her, swiveling her plush leather chair towards Caitlyn. “And an MD/PhD in Molecular Genomics.” Uncertain what she was supposed to say, Caitlyn lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug and nodded. “For as quiet of a woman as you are, you’re quite an adventurer.”

It was dawn and the sun’s ray casted long shadows across the ancient books scattered on the table. Rachel sat among them with her hands moving methodically as she flipped through pages and her brow was furrowed in concentration. The weight of the pack’s survival, of Gilly’s fate, and of Zone’s worsening condition, seemed to press down on all of us, but Rachel carried it with quiet determination. I stood near the door, pacing as I waited for her to find something—anything—that could guide us.

It had been so quick. “Evening then, if it is not a bother.” Racheal said, and took the crochet dress off the rack. “You could never be a bother, Racheal.” Chloe said. “You are going to visit her?’ Jade asked, looking at both of them in surprise. “Yes. She is coming to see my books.” Chloe replied with a big smile.

RACHEL Brushed in with a line of violet and ash. River whispered, “It’s the only place she was allowed to rise.” I glanced at them. “No,” I said. “She rose in you.” Melinda’s POV The next morning, River came into the kitchen holding two books. Mine — the memoir. And Rachel’s old poetry journal — the one I’d kept tucked away for years. They placed both on the table. “I think I want to make something.” “Out of those?” “No. Out of what’s missing between them.” I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Something outrageous. With a pulley system and a trapdoor. Something that says ‘adventure’ and ‘home’ all at once.” She smiled, her heart a warm, full ache in her chest. This was the man she had married. Not the besieged strategist, but the builder of treehouses. “I got a letter today,” she said softly. “From Rachel Mirren.” She felt him go still. “And?” “She’s written a book. About power, coercion, and the failure of institutions. She wants to dedicate it to ‘the resilience of survivors.’ She asked for our blessing.” The ghost of their old life, reaching out in the form of a dedication. Not a threat, but an acknowledgment.

To process. The journal sits on her desk. Leather-bound. Expensive. A gift from Diana who said, "Your story deserves to be preserved. Write it down. For your children. For history. For yourself." So Elara writes. Night after night. Page after page. The impossible truth of her existence. Tonight she's writing about the beginning. About Rachel's death. About waking up as Raven. About those first terrifying moments of realizing she was in the wrong body.

And you are doing quite well in the Science department," Andrew smiled. Rachael continued checking the books, as she was beginning to fall in love with the books, especially the front book covers. "I type, edit my book, make the book covers, and also print them out in hard copies. No one, not even my mum or stepdad knows I write. This room is usually locked, and I only write from Mondays till Friday, when my stepdad is not around," Rachael nodded in admiration. She noticed the titles of all the books, but was caught off guard with two particular titles which were: ' SAME-SEX ATTRACTIONS, and WALLOW IN IT'. She knew in her heart, that it was the right thing to do.

Raphael sat back down and snapped to produce a book. Then he snapped again to produce a glass of brandy, turning it silver with his touch, before starting to read. Raziel snapped to produce himself some brandy as well, turning it gold with his touch. He just sat there in silence, sipping his drink slowly. It looked as if he were deep in thought, which, I'm sure he was. I didn’t want to drink, I didn’t want to think… I didn’t even want to breathe without her. She was only Human, she could be in god knows what kind of danger. I had to shake the thought from my mind. I couldn’t imagine her being somewhere she couldn’t defend herself because she was Human in a supernatural world.