Novel & Cerita Reading Journal Books

Lira I was in the library browsing for what to read when I found a collection of journals dating back centuries ago. The third journal I opened made me gasp. The triple mark. I picked it up and headed to the window, drinking up every word that was unfortunately correlated with the stories my grandmother had told me.

The fact that there are many books in this library, I can say that he just randomly asked books to fill this place… “D. M" Hmm? That is the letter that is written in every last part of the page. It was cursive. “Should I… read this?” I was hesitant whether or not I should read this journal bit then… I find it hard to put it back. It was as if some force is telling me to read it. “Alright…” Madison, bring it on! Let’s read this book! The front page was a purely simple note for the title. There was no acknowledgment or any author's note.

He turned to face Rhea who had been staring at him all along. “Shall we?” he smiled. They started unpacking the books from the shelves and dropping them on the floor and they looked through them one by one “How are we supposed to know which is the journal that we are looking for?” Xavier frowned, turning to face her. “Can you recognize it if you see it?” “Hopefully,” Rhea shrugged, her eyes still fixed on him. “Since he uses it regularly, it should be among the top books here don’t you think?” “If he uses it regularly,” Xavier paused for a moment. “It is definitely not on any of these shelves.” Xavier looked around the room quickly. “The journal is hidden somewhere else. Quick, look for anyt

•|•|• For we wolves covet but one thing, and without it, we become undone. •|•|• [SHADE SHADOWS] I stare at the black covers of the journal, my fingers trace the edges. I know that I am alone, but I still look around as if to ensure I am, before lifting one of the loose boards of the shelves, slipping the journal under the hollow wood on a shelf I am sure to remember. I cannot walk around with the journal of an old King, but neither can I continue to read those prized pages within the walls of the library.

I was disappointed when I realised that this wasn’t a standardised book with contents and labelled pages; it was a journal. I wanted to put it back on the shelf, but I knew it was the only way I would be able to get to the bottom of things. I had no choice. I flipped the page, my eyes scrolling through each word. I didn’t want to miss anything. After reading the first three pages, I decided to get comfortable on the chair perched at the corner of the study where the window was. Engulfing the book in my hands, I took long strides. I glanced at the scenery outside the window before sitting, and the minute my bottom collided with the chair. I felt a form of relaxation.

Before he could ask anything, he noticed the thick, black journal sitting on the coffee table between them. "What’s going on?" Christian asked, his gaze flicking between them. Ruth swallowed hard. "You need to read this." She pushed the journal toward him, her hands visibly shaking. Christian hesitated only for a second before picking it up. He flipped through the first few pages, his brows furrowing as he skimmed through the words. As he read, his expression darkened. Minutes passed, the only sound in the room the quiet rustling of pages. Then, with a sharp exhale, Christian slammed the journal shut. His jaw tightened, his grip so firm that his knuckles turned white.

The ragged, leather-bound corner looked promising. I pulled it free with the kind of care you give to bomb wires and sleeping snakes. It was a journal, a diary and a ledger combined in one scruffy volume. I flipped through it. The content wasn’t meant for bedtime stories. The leather was cracked, the spine well-loved, and the edges of the pages looked like they’d been thumbed through in drunken anger, and sometimes desperation. I sat down on the edge of the low, clubby-looking couch and opened it.

And probably for the best because, let’s be real, two men, both of whom are somehow related? It’s like my brain has decided to make them top contenders in a weird mental game show, and I can’t seem to switch the channel. They’re like little brain parasites, just gnawing away at my thoughts when I’m least expecting it. Ugh, why can’t I just move on? Instead of getting any clarity, I've found myself wrapped up in Reya’s journal. You’d think diving into her world would be enlightening or at least entertaining, but so far, it’s just been a tedious mess of reading about her early days at the Academy.

Within seconds, I was scanning lines that felt familiar, making me huff quietly. “This is what she reads?” I muttered, picking up another book with similar themes. This one was about a dominant executive and a stubborn assistant with heated exchanges disguised as professional conflict. Reaching for the third, I shook my head, amused despite myself. “So this is the narrative she consumes, no wonder she talks back.” I muttered, setting the novel down then reached for the stack beneath it. It was a leather bound journal which was worn slightly at the edges from use. I hesitated as personal journals were boundaries but curiosity has always been my flaw.

Rearranging the books, I found a small brown book wedged behind them, but it didn’t have a title or seem to belong to the library. While putting the library books up, I took the unmarked book and opened the cover to see if something was inside to help me figure out where the book went. The cover had nothing, so I flipped the page and saw it was a journal. The handwriting looked familiar as if I had seen it before. Flipping the pages, I skimmed the contents and saw that it discussed microchips. It was also about changed wolves. I took the book to the loft to find out if it was related to the same thing I wanted to create.