The Hollow Book Jessica Verday Mga Nobela at Kwento

Lillia voiced out firmly, and this time, Anubis met her gaze. “You were blocked by Azazel, the gatekeeper of The Hollow because you were alive. The Hollow is the realm of the dead. It is home to all things vile and evil, and if they smell you, they will latch onto you and will not stop until you are dead.” Anubis lifted the bowl and handed it to Lillia again. “Drink…” she repeated coldly. “…if you want to save your friend.” Lillia swallowed. Slowly, her fingers stretched and grabbed the bowl from Anubis but she did not bring it to her mouth.

It was a popular foreign novel, so she flipped through a few pages. However, as soon as she opened the book, she saw a letter sandwiched between the pages, with the words [To Liv] written on it. ‘For me? ‘From who?’ Out of curiosity, she placed the book aside and started reading the letter. The more she read, the more she felt weird about it. Chills ran down her spine. This was the letter that Jess wrote for her before she passed away. ‘Why is Jess’s letter to me with Zac? ‘Why did Zac never give me this letter…’

The rage had swept through her, transforming her, then had just as quickly left. But the after-effects remained: she felt hollowed out, for one. Numb. And she felt something else. She couldn’t quite figure it. Images kept flashing through her mind, images of those bullies’ exposed necks. Of their heartbeat pulsing. And she felt a hunger. A craving.

Dash would try to state some things around him that wouldn’t be affected by the lip lock and though it’s been a challenge, it’s getting us somewhere. We still haven’t gone very far with unlocking the blank page of the Book of the Undead. The Zetas have been working day and night to solve the secret behind cracking the code, including Hilda. What’s more, it’s all she does all day in her room. A lot of books about demons, runes, and potions—as they said it—were shipped to her room and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was planning to turn her room into a library.

I did my best to take care not to scratch the leather, but when it fell into my arms, I noticed what looked like a fresh dig. Books were not as common in that era as they were in the future so I felt bad about causing damage to it. My lamenting lasted only briefly. An intense curiosity took over just as soon as I realized that it was a journal. It was not just any journal, either. This journal belonged to the late Elsbeth Sleuth. Could the deep, dark family secret be discovered within its pages? I simply had to find out. Lowering myself into a comfy nearby chair, I opened to the first page and focused on the elaborate handwriting. It took some time to familiarize myself with her dramat

Now everything suddenly makes sense. 'My soul was not transferred to the past. It was transmigrated inside my favorite mystery novel which is titled 'Book of Murder' but not as Detective Alice Potter but as Doreen Garcia. ...the murderer.

When I stepped into the hall, Jason caught my arm. “Aria....” “I’m going to the library,” I said. “There’s a book. In the restricted wing. On Binding Hungry Spirits.” He stared at me. “You can barely walk.” “I can remember,” I said. “And that’s enough.” The library was empty. I found the book hidden behind a false panel, its pages brittle, ink faded to rust. It spoke of the Hollow Revenant: born from the first soul denied burial, bound by blood-oaths, sustained by external animus.

Lucas hovered by the door, looking like he wished he could melt into the woodwork. And I stood awkwardly by the window, the uninvited guest, the human ghost in the room. “Thank you for coming,” Jessica said, her voice weak but steady. She didn’t glance my way. Her eyes moved over her father, Ethan, and Lucas. “I know there are questions. I… don’t have all the answers. It’s just fragments. Darkness, cold, the smell of wet stone and… and iron.” She shuddered. “Did you see Peter Holloway?” Victor asked, his voice soft and encouraging.

Ground turned to old grey bones of the world sticking up. The Hollow wasn’t a cave. Worse. A bowl in the hills where the wind went to die. The grass lay flat and colorless, like it had given up on green. The air smelled… empty. No sap. No rot. No animal sharp. My skin crawled before we even dropped over the lip. “What happened?” I whispered. “Rovan practiced.” I wanted to leave. I didn’t. At the floor, the threads found me at once. There were so many.