Tear Stained Prayer Book Novels & Stories

Julian sat by the fire, his face pale from pain and concentration, his tea untouched beside him. No one had said Agnes Harlow’s name. That, too, felt like a rule. Leah leaned closer, careful not to touch the sleeve. The torn edge was uneven, as if someone had removed it quickly from a larger page. Not cut. Torn. The remaining print looked old but not antique, the typeface clean enough to belong to a household inventory printed sometime after the wedding. There were faint lines above and below the visible words, shadows of other entries lost beyond the tear.

The aircon was installed at my back. Whatever that is, Lord, hear my prayer. I wiped off my eyes with my handkerchief and gracefully left the chapel. I sighed heavily knowing I could not see anymore my best of friends and classmate. I hope one day I will find justice to Yana and make her soul at ease. Lord, hear my prayer.

… Rian finished washing clothes, relaxed on the sofa, she wore a funny strawberry print outfit, her expression was beautiful from any angle. Her fair skin was riddled with suspicious red marks, Rian just glanced at it and ignored it because she didn't care too much, she was watching the news on TV, which officials bribed, which shops opened, She stopped at a remarkable news. The founder of the technology kingdom Iris Larey, the leading billionaire in the technology field. In TV, a very prominent man walks in the middle of the red carpet, his hair is meticulously styled and luxurious, his eyes are as sharp as a falcon, every time he turns his eyes, he attracts women, his face is cold, beautif

I looked at the book and I saw a paper sticking out of it. "Open that page Grey." He saw what I was pointing at and there was a piece of paper sticking out of it. It was torn. "It's a torn page. I'm not surprised. The book is centuries old." I looked at the page and it hit me. "That page isn't from that book." Grey was surprised and watched me as I opened my bag and rummage through it. I pulled out the book he had given me and opened the page the was torn. I took the page from Grey and it perfectly lapsed with mine.

I'm sorry Harvey. ~to Grace, I'll always love you~ __ The page looked like it was stuck onto the third page in the book. It was covered in blood stains and after reading that I felt bad for him. He sounded so alone and hopeless. It also seems Harvey has been here for a long time. I must talk to him more. I'm sure he knows more about this. With raging curiosity I open the second page and read. The second page looked rather torn. If it wasn't for the paper it was stuck to it would have already withered away. Blood coated it like a stain of red ink and just like the first, the ink wasn't as clear and it looked like it was messed up by tears stains.

On the morning of the fourth day, I began the "Pilgrimage." Before I left, I went to the manor's abandoned library. It was filled with moldy books and broken furniture, and the air smelled of decaying paper. But on a shelf in the deepest corner, I found a special diary. The cover was dark brown leather, with "Book of Laments" embroidered in gold thread. I opened the first page and saw elegant handwriting. "Here are recorded the stories of every soul in this manor, their pain, their despair, and their final wishes..."

I reply with tears strolling down my cheeks. " Artic, please don't cry! I promise we will figure it out soon," He tells me. " You weren't able to find anything out of this one either huh?" Shawn asks, picking up the book about vampires and their mates, flicking through the pages. I go to respond to his question about the book he's holding. When his breathing becomes ragged, clutching the book in his grasp, looking at me then back at the pages, before he drops the book on the floor.

William shrugs, looking so completely unrepentant (for a second, Proserpina was almost tempted to hit him with the book) as he turns to his phone, scrolling through it rather aimlessly, “…get back to it then. Don’t mind me.” She frowned, glaring at the book, “I can’t.” “What? What did I do now–?” “Not you, moron,” she snaps, “The pages were torn!” And it’s true. The next pages looked like they had been torn off or… no, Proserpina quickly amended, fingers ghosting over at the singed pages, at the words that just makes no absolutely sense whatsoever because it wasn’t torn. Some bloody bugger had burned the next page she was supposed to be reading right now–!

I tasted it on my tongue — bitter and metallic. At the center of the room stood a stone altar, draped in heavy black cloth that spilled onto the floor like a pool of ink. A single book rested on top. Its cover was dark, almost oily-looking, bound with broad strips of leather and clasped at the corners with dull silver that caught the candlelight and threw it back in cold glints. Behind it stood the prince. He didn’t look at us right away. His head was bowed, one hand tracing along the book’s spine with something almost tender. Lady Senna and the armored man flanked him like twin pillars of judgment, their expressions carved from ice.

Suddenly, I felt lighter than before. When I tried to translate the book into our language, I creased my brows because it had ripped pages. The book is missing something, and it's missing some significant notes, as I can see dried blood in the shredded pages towards the book's back. Blood that has been through time. So why did the last page of this book had been torn apart? It's not as though I did something or acted to draw attention to it. Yet since I caught a glimpse of the remnants from the shredded pages, I can't help but narrow my eyes. There appear to be circular designs, one picture with what appears to be a hand in the upper side corner, and that's all.