Reflection Of Book Novels & Stories

" I'm Gisella Antonio and this is the story of my life. Although life wasn't so easy on me but I stood and fought an endlessly battle which I almost lost but finally won at the end. I once looked down on myself. Feeling so useless, aimless and unwanted. I felt like a curse rather than a blessing. I made the words, thoughts and feelings others had about me become "MY REFLECTION" which wasn't right. Till the day I realized what I lost feeling inferior. Today, I wrote this to encourage you not to allow what people think or say about you be your " REFLECTION" but be the " REFLECTION" of your own self. You can be whoever you wish to be when you stop listening to what people say about you and deci

Books are meant to be read, not sit in a shiny glass case for the rest of its life. I still lay there staring blankly at nothing while tracing the beautiful design of the book with my finger, as it lays closely to my face. There is no rhyme or reason to this situation, little did I know the night I was almost raped, I would meet an even bigger obstacle than that.

I didn’t answer. She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a slim leather-bound book. "Here," she said, offering it to me. "I brought this for Naomi to review next week, but you might like it. It’s about reflective leadership. Quiet decision-making. Less about domination, more about direction." I turned it in my hands. "You read this kind of thing for fun?" She smiled. "I read this kind of thing for survival." For a beat, we were just two people in a room full of paper and late-night shadows, No titles, No expectations.

However, despite his panic, his fear did not last long, for a moment later, the book started glowing, turning itself into the purest form of light that he had ever seen. It pulsed, its glow growing brighter and brighter until the entire book shimmered with the same silver color. As soon as the light began to fade, the werewolf king heard an ear-piercing shriek echo throughout the forest. And as he looked up and saw his reflection in the silver shine of the book, he was met with an unearthly sight. His face was a horrifying mask of red scales and fangs, his amber eyes a pitch black with crimson pupils as they stared intently at the reflection of the book that stared back at him.

"That’s all I ask." He stood up and left the room, leaving me alone with the sleeping baby. I looked in the mirror at my own reflection. The "Mirror of Malice" hadn't shattered at all. It had just grown larger, and now I was the one being asked to play the dirtiest game of all. I looked round and there was Maria peeping through the door hole, probably listening to Alpha Ricardo and I.

I commanded, my voice echoing with a resonance that was not entirely my own. ​The iron bolts groaned, a sound like a giant waking from a long slumber. The door swung open slowly, revealing a chamber filled with a soft, ethereal glow. Thousands of scrolls were tucked into honeycomb shelves that reached into the darkness above, and in the center stood a pedestal made of pure obsidian. On it sat the book, bound in skin that shimmered like a raven’s wing. ​"The Book of Shadows," Lila whispered, her torch flickering as if the room itself were trying to snuff it out. "It actually exists."

I pulled it out and saw it was a book on shadow wraiths. Intrigued, I carried it back to the table. It was already getting dark outside, so I lit a candle, the small flame flickering in the drafty room. There was a large mirror directly opposite me on the wall, and it reflected the light in a way that kept catching the corner of my eye. I found it annoying because I was just getting to an interesting part of the book, but the glare wouldn't stop. I tried to ignore it, focusing on the text about spirits that could mimic human forms.

He could also see that reflection from the full length mirror that stood in front of him against the wall. It was probably his third eye acting up again but what did this mean? His eyes, still fixated on the mirror, moved from the patch on the floor to the bed where he noticed something about the book. He stood up, approaching the mirror and that's when he saw it. The mirror gave a reflection of the book, showing it in reverse imaging thus Jake could see the pentacle in its upright position in the mirror. He turned away from the mirror to the book and grabbed it, slowly turning it the other way as the pentacle now appeared in its original position in the upright form.

She pulled it out, sneezed once as dust motes tickled her nostrils, and lowered the book on the coffee table. The title was written in cursive gold letters, 'The Art Of The Body'. Clearly out of curiosity, she opened to the middle of the book, and her eyes nearly popped out in pure mortification. The book contained explicit diagrams of men and women in different, erotic, sexual poses.

Because there was no cover to lift. The book never closed. Because there was no cover to lower. The book was the opening. The book was the closing. The book was the reading. The book was the read. All one. Always one. Without oneness. This. The final chapter is not final. There was no first. There was no sequence. Only this. Appearing as sequence for a while. Appearing as progression. Appearing as development. Appearing as climax. Appearing as resolution. Appearing as dissolution.