Reading Books Aesthetic 소설 & 이야기

Immediately Jonah drops me off, few streets away from mother’s house, I smile and wave him goodbye, my bones already itching to get into the shower. The doors to my house opens on their own leading me to the very spacious sitting room, so much for being rich, my house is like an epitome of space, I don’t do well with crowded areas, the shelves on the wall are hung appropriately, each color, blend to give a modern touch, the glass chairs and table makes the sitting room look even more beautiful, and then the artificial fire place just beneath the television. I twirl round the sitting room till my butt finds the cushion. “his eyes though” I say out loud, the black boy’s eyes are so intriguing

Every who would enter it would most definitely make this room their favorite. "It's a shame." she whispered. "I wonder if he had truly read all these books." She continued to walk towards the shelves, tracing her fingertips against the spine of the archaic collections. She looked at them dearly, with curiosity over her eyes. She may not have known the language the book was written was, but she assumed that they were all unique and beautiful. As Asty resumed her little tour, she reached a certain part of the bookshelf where she was able to see a silhouette of someone behind it. Alarmed, Asty slowly crouched in the corner to peek.

She had mixed the color specifically for this book. The title was on the cover in a specific typeface—neither the aggressive modernity of certain contemporary books nor the antiquarian weight of the attempt at the classical. Something between. Something that Don had found in the specimen book and had chosen because, he said, the letterforms had the quality of having been made by someone who understood that the thing being named was both ancient and ongoing. The Inside Account. Don's name below it. The designer had set the text in a way that gave the words the space they needed—not crowded, not isolated. The book has an argument about the arrangement of things on a page.

The library felt like a gift, and that was what made it dangerous. I moved slowly along the shelves, trailing my fingers across the spines of books. The contact sent a faint shiver through me, not pleasure exactly, but recognition. Something inside me loosened, not relief and not comfort, but a thin strand of control I had not realized was missing. The titles were familiar in tone if not in detail. Business. Finance. Strategy. Leadership. Negotiation. The kinds of books men like Jaden collected to justify their decisions after the fact, volumes that framed dominance as intelligence and conquest as foresight.

"I have a condition. Bibliomania. Medically diagnosed." "That's a real thing?" "Probably not. But it should be." She finally looked up at him. Really looked. Her eyes were dark and direct and slightly amused. "You're very tall." "I am." Axel wasn't sure what to do with that. "Do you need help with those?" "The books? I've got them." She demonstrated by immediately dropping two. "Mostly." Axel picked them up. Read the covers—both romance novels. "Good books?" "The best kind. Loud heroines, complicated men, happy endings." She took them back. "You don't read romance."

She apologized and continued with what she was about to do. Aesthelia examined every book on the shelves. This library is unexpectedly good, and it seems that it's being taken care of daily. They purchased the latest book, and Aesthelia didn't anticipate that a pack of wolves would give importance to this book. She thought that they were obsessed with training and such. It's rude of her to have such an assumption, right? Aesthelia was so busy looking at the book title that she didn't notice the person in front of her.

Looking for patterns in what Ryan had chosen to keep here. Because a library tells you everything about the person who built it. Stone City had taught me to read spaces before I read people. A room tells you what a person values. What they fear. What they want others to think of them and what they keep purely for themselves. Ryan's library was not decorative. There were no books chosen for their covers or their impressiveness on a shelf. No sets bought purely for appearance. Every book here was worn at the spine. Read. Some of them read multiple times judging by the cracking of the binding.

It was waiting. Food arrived in courses. Afsana and Liya lingered, curious, before vanishing again. I ate carefully, aware of his eyes flicking toward me between sips of wine. Never constant. Just enough to remind me that nothing I did went unseen. Finally, his voice cut through. “Tell me what else you bought.” I startled, knife clinking against porcelain. “Books.” His brow arched. “Books?” I nodded, firmer. “On color theory. Composition. Symbolism. And some novels.”

"There's nothing that compares to it. The weight of it, the texture of the cover, the way the spine makes that little cracking sound when you open it for the first time..." Her body actually shivers as she describes this, and I'm stunned to find myself responding to her passion. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was describing an intimate encounter rather than reading a book. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing slightly quicker, and there's a brightness to her eyes that's utterly mesmerizing. I should reconsider my opinion of libraries, it seems. I could listen to her talk about this for hours, though I'm becoming uncomfortably aware of a tightening in my trousers. Xavier would laugh

“Should I cancel the banquet, my queen?” Athena looked up from the leather-bound book in her hand. It was titled Mystery of the Silver Curse. She pondered Lorraine's question as she looked around the study they were currently in. Raymond's study. The cinnamon-and-spice scent she had begun to unconsciously attach to him was heavy in the room. Dark oak furniture showed this was a man’s place. Apparently, a man who loved to read. Because apart from one section of the wall, every other was filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked with books spanning werewolf mythology, business, agriculture, leadership, and even fiction.