The Book Burned Novels & Stories

My hand closed around a small bound book on the table and I pulled it away from her and she screamed something I didn't understand and reached for me. Blaze was between us in an instant. "Burn it," Damon said to me. Directly. Clear. There was a flame on the table. A candle. I held the book over it and it caught fast, faster than it should have, like it wanted to burn. Lana made a sound that was not quite human when it went up. The three bundles were already burning. Colt had lit them the moment we got inside. The moment the book caught fully something in the air changed. I felt it physically. A pressure I hadn't realized was there released all at once and I took a breath that felt like the f

She walked towards where her daughter was and she stared at her for a while before moving her eyes to Hazel. “Thank you, Hazel,” she said it like she meant it and she moved her eyes back to fall on the book of prophecy before gripping it tightly. “Caitlin! No,” Hazel expressed shock when she suddenly realized and she quickly made to save the book but she was too late as the book turned to ashes as soon as the flames engulfed it.

She simply gave them the truth and let it stand in the snow, and the men received it in silence, the flat broken silence of a people too cold and too hungry to do anything with a truth but hear it. Then she went back up to the study, because there was nowhere else to go, and she took out the book to burn it. That was her honest intention. The swollen ledger of buried bodies had cost her everything. It had turned Dain into a fuse, started a mutiny, and taught her that every secret in it was a door that opened onto a trap. She knelt at the small cold hearth with the last of the fire she would allow herself, and she opened the book one final time, meaning to feed it page by page to the flame, a

Not a scratch. Exhausted, we both collapsed to the ground, surrounded by ancient books. When I pulled the book from the flames, I realized it wouldn't leave my hand. It was stuck to my palm. "Micha—" He stepped closer, ready to help, but I shook my head. "Relax. A book can't hurt me." If only I knew. The book began to move on its own. The pages beat like a heart. Heat spread across my palm, burning my skin.

James said slowly. "Are you supporting them?" Peter Okeke asked. "No I am not." "You must know that burning a human is setting them on fire and fire is not friendly when it comes in contact with a human skin." James took the book, flipped through the pages then he gave the book to Paul Okeke. "Read that story." Paul Okeke collected the book from James hands. The title was written in bold letters like the previous story he read. It was titled: A GRUESOME DEATH. He swallowed and started reading loudly.

Even the bishop, once warm and jovial, began requesting odd reports about Isabella’s daily activities. And Catherine—despite her physical absence—was ever-present. She had sent a parcel to the church. Inside was a book. No note. No name. Just the title embossed in gold: "The Altar We Burned." It was written in Isabella’s handwriting. But she had never written such a book. Arthur’s hands shook as he turned the pages. They detailed dreams Isabella had shared only with him. Secrets she hadn’t spoken aloud. The book was a threat.

Quickly, I find myself kneeling close to the warmth of the fireplace. I see torn pages lying around, their edges scorched and black. I stretch out my hand and feel the smooth texture of the parchment with my fingertips. Bran squats down beside me, getting close to the ground. "Is that-?" I inhale deeply and struggle to swallow. "Pages from the cookbook." But they're not just lost. They were burned. There's this crushing sense of dread in my chest that I can't seem to shake off. Looks like someone was here before, and they knew about the cookbook.

"If that's what you need to do, then I'm here with you." Together, we gathered the romance novels, piling them up in the center of the room. The weight of their pages felt heavy in my hands, a physical representation of the weight they had placed on my heart. I struck a match, watching as the flame danced to life, its glow illuminating the truth I had been avoiding. As the fire consumed the books, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me. The crackling flames devoured the tales of love and passion, leaving behind only ashes and smoke. It was a symbolic release, a declaration of my independence from the false narratives that had held me captive.

**** Author Note Thank you for reading my book and sorry the recent updated chapters have not been that good. There was a fire outbreak In my area this week about five of my neighbors were burnt to death. It has been very traumatic. I am finding it hard to write. And since the fire was caused by the electricity, we don’t have light until further notice. I will re-edit the book when everything is better.

It looked as though the place had been ransacked, due to the books being scattered in every direction. I knocked around some of the books with the tip of my sneaker, surprised that not all were destroyed beyond recognition. I picked up one of the many plain bound books and looked at the cover. The top and bottom corner was burned off of the book, and the cover hung by a few threads, but there was still some sense to the handwritten words inside. The cover of the book read, "1836" I flipped the book open to a random pace, surprised to find the inexperienced writing of a child.