Slow Burning Book Novels & Stories

A fire is crackling there, fighting the damp chill of the sea air. I throw the box in. It lands on the logs. The white cardboard begins to brown. The tissue paper curls. Then the lace catches. It doesn't burn like normal fabric. It flares. Green and blue flames lick up the chimney. The smell of burning chemicals fills the room, sharp and acrid, choking out the smell of old books. Ciro coughs, covering his mouth with his arm. I don't move. I watch it burn. I watch the white turn to black ash.

why does my flame keep getting higher and it feels like I'm burning within dangerous desire? T O B E C O N T I N U E D...

"What else? I wish I had cooking necessities and equipments at our dormitory, I would have cooked my boredom away. I'm going to read my novels or watch some cooking lessons online." "I don't know how you do that sincerely. I can't read romance novels because I can't stand the steamy scenes. I'll be horny almost every time." She scrunched up her face. "You're so silly. I don't picture myself when reading, I just enjoy reading them generally making a fantasy of the characters in my head, I watch them enjoy it in my head." She chuckled. That soft chuckle, but it didn't make her face lit up as it always did when she cooked.

It was now or never and the only way to find out. "I love you too," I closed my eyes and waited for the burn searing in my tattoo. There, a slight burn, quite faint but it ended all too quickly, seared on my left chest. Was that a bad sign or a good sign? I casted my eyes downward to my left chest, to where my tattoo was. I checked surreptitiously to see if it glowed and thankfully, my button up shirt was three buttons undone so my chest was still visible. I frowned when it flickered weakly, like a busted light bulb. Was that supposed to happen? Was that supposed to glow like that? Did the curse break that confession?

I pull back with a gasp, but no one else seems to notice the golden glow that is beginning to permeate through the book. I look up at the men. “Do you see that?” I whisper as the words begin to shift, and the writing begins to change. They all shake their heads and gaze down at the book intently. Creighton looks back at me in question. “What do you see?” I shake my head as I try to form words. I’m sure I look like a gaping fish. “I…I…the book is glowing, and the words are changing into…” I have to stop because my body begins to get cold, and my vision begins to dim. The glow intensifies and spills out of the book, moving like dribbling water in my direction. I try to back away, but it’s like

As I release each breath I imagine a small flame growing in my mind, it starts shaky and dies out at first but I try again. This time, it ignites and forms into a small flaming bud. And with each breath, the bud slowly grows, almost as if one is blowing into a balloon, and as it grows in my mind my biceps burn along with my palms. The burn isn’t painful, but it feels just like it would when you put your hands close to the fire. The heat steams into my skin and makes it warm, and that warmth travels through every part of my body like the blood flowing in my veins, and it all flows back through the right atrium into my beating heart.

Those simple sentences kept echoing in Emmett's mind. All at once, it felt like he had been cursed. Those words echoed in his mind so much that a sharp pain spread across his forehead. The immense pain left him devoid of any strength. With a loud thud, his phone fell and slammed onto the table. Unfortunately, Emmett had tied the candlesticks with thin threads to ensure an even distance between each. One candlestick fell, pulling on the threads and causing the others to fall over, too. Hot flames spread onto the dead leaves and feathers on the ground. It then traveled toward the wooden dominoes.

With a sudden, jarring jolt, she found herself awake, gasping for breath, her heart racing wildly within her chest. The room was heavy with the pungent scent of ash, a thick fog of smoke lingering in the air, wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud. Her gaze was drawn to the Book lying wide open on the wooden floor next to her bed, its aged pages fluttering as if stirred by an unseen wind. The pendant that had once been a mere trinket now blazed with a fierce glow, radiating warmth and an unfamiliar power. As she leaned closer, a word—burned into the very fabric of the parchment—caught her eye, not inscribed with ink or blood, but scorched as if marked by a divine hand:

"Please make yourself comfortable while I go check on our patient." After Petra left, Zack looked around the room. He found it quite cozy and comfortable, perfectly according to his taste. He decided to take a look at some of the books that were stored on the shelves. They were all about curses and psychic abilities, which he found interesting as he had never studied such things before.

Flashback The hostel was quiet in the way it always was after lights out , not completely silent, just softened. Pages turned. Someone shifted in their sleep. Aria sat on her bed with her books open, highlighter resting uselessly across a paragraph she’d read three times without absorbing. Outside, rain traced thin lines down the window, steady and unhurried. Her phone buzzed. A text from Damien. --It’s raining, Come on… let me make your slow-dancing dreams come true.--