Regina George Burn Book Page Novels & Stories

I took my book and I lit my index finger with fire and tried burning the book. "They got us there". Zale said and sighed getting his own book and tried to toss it in the ocean. I stopped my fire and stopped him. "Well, as we are back to square one, let's just try to gather information from the northern part," I said and smiled at him. I put my book inside my bag again. It was pointless anyway, to burn the book. It is the book of origin, a book written by the Gods, it is protected from being harmed by anything, by anyone.

The luxurious, pristine white manor was now shrouded in thick smoke as it was engulfed by flames. I threw away the key, tore off the necklace around my neck, and threw it into the fire. Then, listening to the roaring flames behind me, I left the villa where I had grown up. I thought, 'Atlas, let's never meet again.'

My fingers ached from flipping too many pages and my eyes were tired from staring too hard. I was just about to give up and throw another book across the table when something caught my eye. It was a picture. I paused, slowly flipping the page back. There, in the corner of an old dusty book, was a drawing of a few strange-looking leaves. I leaned in closer. I didn’t recognize them, but the text under it mentioned something about skin regeneration… and scars. My heart skipped a beat. “Could it be?” I whispered.

Then the poetry. Handwritten. Sometimes sonnets. Sometimes messy, jagged pieces that felt like they’d been ripped straight from his chest. One read: If I could be the rain that slips down your shoulder, If I could be the sky you look up at in rage I’d let you strike me down, again and again, If only to stay close to your fire. I threw that one in the trash. Three hours later, it was tucked inside the cash register. And then came the books. First editions. Stories I’d loved. Stories I’d once read aloud to Damien in the Blackwood library when we were young and tangled in something that felt like forever.

“For you.” I could hardly believe it. Flipping through the composition book, I could make out pages upon pages filled with neat handwriting, what looked like ten chapters worth of reading, and even… a couple of smutty scenes. My cheeks warmed as I flipped to a random page and read something about the dragon turning into a man, and…

There is no way she didn’t put some sort of dark spell on this binder. I turn around and walk into the library. Milo and Reggie follow me. “Bronx, what are ya doin’ buddy?” Milo asks, “You wanna sit and read that all now? It’s gonna take some time to get through.” I make my way to the enormous fireplace and throw the binder into the crackling flames without a second thought. “What?! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!” Reggie snarls. He tries to grab at the binder, but it's too far in the fireplace for him to reach without getting severely burned.

"Were you that curious about me?" 'You think?' "Heh. Suit yourself." She pouted at Harika's response. Still, she continued to flip the pages. "Ah," she gasped. "It was burnt..." "Ah, yes, unfortunately." Although it was a pity that a few pages were burnt and unreadable, Minerva continued to flip gently so as to make sure that it would not be damaged further. Minerva continued to do so until she saw something. She halted for a bit and read the text. When she read it, Minerva froze in shock and stared wide-eye at the book.

"He would have liked knowing it came out." "Yes," Sera said. "He would have." The library. The fire. The leather bookmark is at page three twelve. She picked up the book. She read page three twelve. She turned to page three thirteen. The chapter had, finally, the right quality of attention.

Tears filled her eyes as she whispered against his chest, “Then burn it down. Burn the book. Please.” But when he reached for the pages, the blood hissed back like flames resisting him. The book laughed—a sharp, broken sound akin to paper tearing apart: “You can’t burn her story, fox; you can only read it…and reading means obeying.” Camela’s scream caught in her throat as she muttered, “It spoke…” Vincent bared his teeth in defiance as his fire flared even higher. “Then I’ll silence it,” he said fiercely. He slammed his hand down, his fire blazing but the pages didn’t burn. Instead, they bled harder and thicker, flooding the floor until it reached their ankles.

She had thought this through. ''I have a clue, based on one of her notes.'' She brought out a crumpled piece of paper. ''I found it weird on why they are written vertically and why some of the words don't follow any spacing at all.'' She then pulled another paper. When they squinted closer, they found out it was a rough draft of Jazel. She placed it above the last page of the book. Regina turned on the flashlight of her phone and lit the papers from behind.