The Diary Novel Novels & Stories

Sophia opened the first page of the diary and her attention was immediately captivated by the first lines. "Dear Sophia," the diary began, each word etched onto the yellowed paper with a sense of urgency and purpose, "maybe it's time to tell you about my life when things weren't so easy. The moment when I had to commit crimes ..."

With a racing heart, I began to read the pages of the diary, hoping to find secrets about the mafioso who had captured my heart. When I opened the diary, my surprise was instant. It was Andrew's mother's diary. I flipped through the pages, and there was information about her married life with Andrew's father, betrayals, Ize's birth, among other things. Although the notes were not completely revealing, I couldn't read all the pages at once; I just flipped through them quickly. However, something at the end of the pages caught my attention. There was a letter, a letter that broke my heart. It was old, written before I even existed, and probably had never been seen by anyone, as people rarely e

Enjoy the journey ............. Emily POv : I was rearranging my cupboard, sorting through the piles of clothes and forgotten items, my fingers brushed against something unexpected—a diary. My diary. I paused, feeling a rush of memories flood back at the sight of the worn, weathered cover. It had been so long since I last laid eyes on it, tucked away amidst the clutter of my belongings. With curiosity, I retrieved the diary from its hiding place, feeling the weight of years past in my hands. As I flipped through its pages, the familiar scrawl of my own handwriting greeted me, each entry a window into moments long gone but not forgotten.

On the other hand, my curiosity and the need to take my mind off of Sariel, Draven, and all the other issues overcame the potential threat. I grabbed a tissue and used it to open the book as if expecting the pages to be poisoned. I turned the first page and it turned out to be some old diary. I ran through a few entries. The handwriting I found on those pages was sophisticated and beautiful, while the entries themselves looked like historical notes. As I took a closer look, I saw the dates marked in the corners: they were all dated in the nineteenth century. As I read a couple more entries, I started to realize that the one who had written it was a noble… a vampire noble, a woman at that.

The questions keep troubling me. My mind creates this image of a guy madly in love with a very pretty girl. It feels so picture-perfect. But as I feel the burnt edges of the diary, I feel unsettled. His hands were blown off from this diary. Somehow, I have assumed that this diary is about a guy who doesn’t get his girl and that’s

I had my journal in my hand, somehow I felt a new need to hold on to it everywhere I went. I was with Damien, though I was bruised all over, it was easy to hide the pain. Besides, I was used to being flogged. We were talking about something that made me laugh so hard. It was actually a comedy skit we watched. I almost lost balance, my journal scattered on the ground. I was embarrassed, more embarrassed because the name "Annabelle Steele" was written boldly on its front page.

" Annabelle was in the middle of packing when she found this notebook, and, since she was starting a new adventure of sorts, she decided to start writing a little, to entertain her mind, now that the most probable was that she'd be even more lonely than in the house where her parents were all the time. Her pause took a couple of hours as she finished setting her things up, and then she came back to her desk, sat comfortably, and took the fountain pen again. Her moods changed subtly from gloomy and clammed up to depressed and openly emotional. That was something nobody could see, but her newly started diary was going to show from the very start. She restarted her narrative. "We're in the midd

"Didn't I tell you that you're the only woman he loves deeply? One more reason I came here. I want to give this to you." She got stunned when the old woman suddenly handed her a familiar notebook that she was starting to recognize. To her surprise, it was the diary she owned way back in her high school days. The diary where she chronicled all her feelings to Thyago way back in her teenage days, the diary where it all began...

And for almost as many years I had carried the same secret fantasy: being bent over one of these tables, skirt pushed up, mouth used until I couldn’t speak, while the rare books watched in silence. I never told anyone. I barely admitted it to myself in daylight. But after midnight, when the building belonged only to me, the fantasy sat closer to the surface. I shifted in my chair, thighs pressing together under the modest black skirt I always wore for work. The movement made the silk of my underwear brush against skin that was already too warm. I ignored it and turned another page. The soft click of the outer door lock made my head lift. Footsteps. Measured. Familiar.

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..."