The Leaf Thief Read Aloud Novels & Stories

She decides to read one of them aloud as there’s plenty of time and nothing else to do. Mariah starts reading “Dance of thieves” to Mr. Denis and she enjoys it herself as well. It’s a book about war for power among kingdoms and about fierce women. Mariah likes the book and doesn’t even realize that she’s been reading it for hours, when suddenly she feels an itchy feeling in her throat. So she puts down the book, drinks some water, injects some medicines and them checks up on the vitals. Mariah sits down and stares at the lifeless figure in front of her.

As she read the story, she picked up a leaf and began to chew on it absentmindedly. The taste was bitter, but she had grown accustomed to it. She savored the sharp tang of the leaf and let it invigorate her senses. The book was a romance novel, and Aurora couldn't help but giggle at the foolish behavior of the characters. She talked to herself as she read, lost in the story. As she turned the page, she paused to take another leaf from the pouch. Suddenly, she heard a noise outside her door.

His voice encircled her and entered her mind, asking, "Are you listening again, little thief?" Not just for ears and sight, the word "thief" has many meanings. She began to say, "I," but he interrupted her with a raised palm and squinted his eyes like a predator assessing its victim. What creatures reside within these stones? "Do you even know what the walls are, Luna?" Luna's stomach twisted, and the curiosity and terror in her chest changed into something she couldn't recognise.

Two years ago, my older sister Jaslyn and I were trapped in a housefire. The firefighters told Mom she had to make a choice. They could only save one of us. Mom chose me because I was closer to the door. Later, when she learned that the fire had been caused by us breaking into the neighbor's house to steal stuff, she grabbed me by the hair and yelled at me. "Your sister Jaslyn was a model student. There's no way she would steal anything. "You're the thief! If it weren't for you, she wouldn't have died!" From then on, I wasn't allowed to eat good food or wear nice clothes. Every day, I had to kneel before Jaslyn's portrait and atone for my sins. One day, the class fund went missing at

Finally, Chief Virjan spoke, announcing our arrival. “This is it, Ari. The home of the Nightleaf.” As we reached the ground where the Nightleaf grows, I was in awe at the sight. The rare plant was everywhere, small fields of Nightleaf stretching out before me. I knelt on the ground, captivated by the beautiful flower with leaves resembling the crescent moon, and tiny white flowers sparkling like bright stars under the moonlight. It felt magically stunning, as if the plant's leaves were plucked from the night sky itself. The Chief smiled at my amazement with the magical plant they proudly cultivated.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of.” A gust of cold air whipped through the room. The shadows around Alexa seemed to shift, twisting into something grotesque. Lexi forced herself to speak. “You’re not real.” Alexa’s expression didn’t change. “Aren’t I?” A heartbeat of silence. Then— She was in front of her. Lexi barely had time to react before fingers—ice-cold and unnaturally strong—wrapped around her throat. “You stole everything from me,” Alexa hissed, her breath warm against Lexi’s ear. “And now, I’ll take it back.”

Leo whispered. ​Nora’s chest didn't move. But the book began to Glow.

~Rose~ What the hell do I do? I already said that it was a mistake, that I hadn't intended on stealing anything. This was supposed to be the part where he let me go. But he wasn’t. He was holding a firm grip, so firm that it was stopping my blood flow. ”I think I should-” ”No.” ”You’re a pick-pocketer huh?” He said and stepped closer.

But the garden seemed to lean closer, as if trying to whisper something it wasn’t ready to speak aloud. That evening, I walked to the glade. The stones were warm, though the air was cold. The book still rested on the pedestal, a silent witness to years of stories. I expected stillness, but the pages were fluttering—though no wind stirred. I approached. The movement stopped. The page it had turned to was unfamiliar. Not one I—or anyone—had written. The handwriting was not ours, and yet it was as though it knew me. It read: “When the frost comes, so will they. Keep the root warm.”

The violet leaf did not wither under the un-optimized noon sun. Instead, it uncurled its sharp, geometric edges against the crushed aluminum casing of the scouting drone, its surface ticking with a microscopic vibration that felt like a telegraph wire strung through a garden. The text blooming on its skin—VOLUME 10, CHAPTER 3: THE FIRST CLASS—was written in the precise, razor-thin font of the High Treasury, a tiny but stubborn piece of corporate graffiti trying to brand the dirt.