The Book Leaves Novels & Stories

I whispered. The book said the leaves were rare and only grew near the east garden—somewhere near the training grounds. I didn’t think twice. I got up, grabbed the book, and hurried out of the library before Princess Thania could return and stop me with another one of her “nap therapy” ideas.

"Jasmine is dead!" She pointed to the scattered pieces of paper on the floor. With a mocking glance at him, she added, "You really don't want to read that? Those are the last words she left behind for you." William's eyes followed her finger, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw the torn fragments of the letter. The wind blew them around, and through the scraps, he could still make out faint traces of writing. He took a step back, his legs shaking. "No... this can't be real…" he muttered. "She's the woman who outlasted storms—how the hell does a force like that just... vanish?"

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It was bound with beautiful teal leather that caught my eye. I took it from his stretched hand. He took his seat once again and I looked at it. The book had a faint musty scent and surprisingly, it felt light as a feather in my hands. I fingered the gold letterings delicately, a part of me scared that I might disarrange them. It read Lost Memories. I couldn't take my eyes away from it. It felt like it called to me. I turned the cover over and it revealed an almost blank page. I almost did not notice the small writing at the very edge of the page.

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she handed the book back to me as if to rid herself of it. "It's stupid. Everyone has a different journey on this Earth so the advice that's listed it's useless," I found myself trying to put the book back on the shelf but I still couldn't reach. "Ren honey, put the book on there," there was this silver rectangular prism that stood right below my waist. I placed the book on its surface and it immediately vanished from the platform.

Yam sliced it open slowly, hands trembling. Inside was their book. “The Art of Staying.” Cover: a sunflower. A crooked shelf. Two mugs—one chipped. And behind it all, the suggestion of a fan, mid-spin. Franc stared at it like it might whisper back. “Feels unreal,” Yam said. Franc flipped through pages. Some with artwork. Others with Yam’s poetry. Their story—wired beginnings and all—now bound in matte finish. “I think this book breathes,” Franc said.

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.

" I looked down at his stubborn yet fragile grip on my hand. In the end, I sighed and pushed him away. "We're over, Eugene."

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