Tear Stained Prayer Book Novels & Stories

The scuffle seemed to take on a life of its own, an embodiment of the hidden conflicts that simmered beneath the surface. With a desperate, final attempt, Prisca put all her strength into one powerful tug. The journal was wrenched from Rose's grasp, leaving her momentarily stunned. Prisca staggered backward, clutching the journal tightly to her chest. In the chaos of the struggle, their movements carried them toward the stairs, their footing uncertain.

Thorns sinking into marked flesh like venomous teeth, the man pushed his crown deeper as red fluid leaked through the fresh marks, trickling down the side of a hairless chin. He was naked again. Like he was. Like he'd always been. Like he'd always be. The small book of scriptures, lay in front of him, as always. The worn out edges of the old Bible touching his bare knees. The stained pages showing powerful spiritual words which were going faint from age.

and where could the other have gone? Julian gritted his teeth, feeling the disoriented stares upon him. In one smooth motion he ripped the good book he held in half and let its embossed white covers and the torn, gilt-edge pages tumble, and scatter across the floor. He listened to their panicked groans. “Grace alone,” he said, and then he strode out of his chapel room without another word.

Silent tears rolled down my face. Why? Why couldn't I just have a normal family and a happy life? I never wanted to hurt anyone. I never even got involved with the things they did. But maybe I wasn't innocent either. The money that was used to raise me was dirty, stained with blood and tears. No matter how much I tried to deny it, I couldn't escape payback forever. I just never thought the price would be my own family trying to kill me. When Neil saw me crying, his whole face darkened with fury.

And she would be the last. That was the lie she had told herself, right before the first scream was swallowed by the chapel’s walls. They had locked the doors from the outside. Her husband had turned his back. The priest had opened a book made from human skin. And still, Louisa had hope. Until she found the prayer. A single page, torn from a forbidden scripture. Hidden behind a brick in the bridal chamber. As if someone—maybe a bride before her—had left it there, like a torch in the dark.

Legends of the End Times. Okay. A little on the nose. She pulled it out. The book snapped open like it had been waiting for her. Pages fluttered violently — way too violently for the still air. Most were gone. Torn out. Clean edges, not ragged. Deliberate. Only one page remained. Scrawled in handwriting that wasn't printed: She will bloom when all else dies. Aria stared. The ink bled at the edges. Not like water damage. Like tears.

Stefan has not asked, and I have already learned that offering information unasked can be every bit as dangerous as withholding it. On the eighth evening the study door is open when I bring the final tray of water for the night. Stefan is at his desk, but the papers have been pushed aside into a careless stack. He is turning a small object over in his fingers—a worn strip of dark cloth, edges frayed with age and long handling. I recognize the texture before I can stop the thought. It looks exactly like the kind of cloth a person might tear from a dress in a moment of emergency. My steps falter for half a breath before I force them steady again.

Sensing what lay ahead of her, she had taken a clean pair of heels never to come back until when Tesot was gone. On this prayer day, he expected her mother, Becky to be present. He had always told himself that she would not to miss this one as she had done when he was in standard eight. He had felt the pain. He had hated whatever circumstances prevented her from coming. She only sent a success card for him. His vision had blurred when he read it as the words had spattered with his tears. And he still remembered every word scribbled in it in neat handwriting. He had committed them to memory. He could rewrite everything she had written and punctuate it as exactly as she had done.

The book is making cracking and popping sounds. As I rush over to the fireplace, my hand reaches for the book, but the intense searing on my hand causes me to wrench my arm back, keeping it against my chest. A tear falls down my cheek as I watch it scrunch into nothing. Ash falling to the bottom of the fireplace. I feel a warm hand come into touch with mine, pulling it away from my chest, while they run their fingers over the source of the pain, causing me to recoil back. I hear a sigh before being lifted off the floor by hands, corridors passing me by in a haze owing to my crying.

the diary was still there, staring at the cover, the bright colors, the stickers filled it front and back, the pink, purple, blue, white, red, all the fucking colors you can think of, it was her, literally and metaphorically her, it was supposed to be filled with adventures and names of friends but instead it corrupted with one persons name, it's so sickening how someone turned something so bright to something so dark, my hands tightens around the book , tears swell up in my eyes, I should have been here to save her, she would have still lived, now the only memory I have of her is this, I was more pissed than sad. leaning against the locker a knock startles me, it's Shakes, of course it's hi