The Neverending Story Leather Bound Book Novels & Stories

but now there were too many unknowns spines sitting on the dusty, wooden shelves. I started running my fingers over the spines of all the books. Reading the titles off of the white paper that was pasted on their spine. I didn't know where to begin, I didn't know which book would give me answers to my questions. Maybe I should've grown a pair and asked the witch but lord it was so scary to be there, I just didn't want to risk it after I had gotten a way to fix myself. My eyes suddenly fell on a very familiar, red leather cover bound book which was as huge as my face. I took out "A history of the first wolf", remembering all the numerous times I had dragged my brother Apollo here, so he could

The leather binding was cracked with age, the pages yellowed at the edges. "This is for you," she said, her voice measured and calm, betraying nothing of what she might think of me or my situation. "You'll want to read it soon." "What is it?" I stood, drawing closer but not touching the book. Something about it radiated importance, and I wasn't sure I was ready for more revelations. She tapped the leather-bound cover with one long, elegant finger. Bloodlines of the Forgotten. My breath caught, the words hanging in the air between us like a challenge.

My fingers brush over cracked spines until they stop on one bound in faded blue leather. When I pull it out, dust swirls in the air, making me sneeze. "The Lost Packs of the Northern Realms," I read aloud. The cover bears a strange symbol – a crescent moon wrapped around a flowering vine. "Careful with that one, dearie." The voice makes us both jump. An elderly woman with silver-streaked hair pulled into a severe bun peers at us from behind wire-rimmed glasses. "Those histories are delicate. And dangerous, some might say."

And I knew London and Libbie were probably in on it, too. They were all on my list now. ________________________________________ The leather felt strange against my skin. It was cool and surprisingly smooth, despite how old the book looked. It wasn't just a book; it was a heavy, ancient tome that felt like it carried its own gravity. Silver clasps held the covers shut, the metal darkened by layers of tarnish that settled into the grooves of a strange, swirling crest. I didn't know what the symbol meant, but I couldn't stop looking at it.

As I flipped through the pages, reading her increasingly worrisome thoughts, the moonlight reflected off of shiny black leather. Sitting down the diary, I reached into the box, grasping the strange book. It was all black. When I’d first looked at it, the binding appeared to be leather, but it doesn’t feel or look like any leather I’ve ever seen. It was far too soft, similar to suede. The material seemed to be stretched over a symbol and as I circled my ring finger along the ridges, the padlock holding it shut popped open. “Not fucking creepy at all.”

it somewhere convenient. Satisfied with the bag, I sank into the plush armchair by the window, curling up with the storybook. The leather-bound cover felt worn and warm under my fingers as I flipped through the pages trying to find something a bit ‘light hearted’… well light hearted for this book anyway.

I ask softly, noticing the change too. Silently, Hardin nods just a little, shoulders tense as I take the gift from him. It's like he's dreading the thought of a gift from his parents, like it's going to be something horrible. Unwrapping the gift from his parents, I place the paper aside and open the lid of the box. The second I lay eyes on the gift itself, I realise what it is. Bound is soft tan leather, sits a chunky photo album. Figuring his parents wouldn't hand him a empty photo book, I decide not to open it.

I stretch up on my toes and pull it out, and seconds later I succeeded like I always do when I put my mind on things. Sending a cloud of dust motes swirling into the air while allowing it for a moment to escape from the shelf, I blew the dust from the cover. There were no words printed on the front or spine, just a simple black leather binding cracking with age, and strange symbol I do not recognize.

“Tell me this doesn’t look like it crawled out of a Victorian ghost story.” Clara laughed softly despite herself. “Please tell me you didn’t adopt another haunted object.” “It was in the donation stack Thomas dropped off last week.” Lena placed it carefully on the counter. “I swear, Clara, it felt like it wanted to be found.” Clara rolled her eyes gently. “Books don’t want things.” “They absolutely do,” Lena insisted. “They just can’t shout.” Clara reached for the book. The leather was thin and soft from age. The corners were worn smooth, as though it had passed through many hands. She opened it slowly.

But what catches my eye is s a stack of books I’ve never seen before. They are in several different shades of blue, but all covered in the same material. It looks like a leather but more textured, maybe another animal hide? They have the most beautiful gold writing on them and I am just simply, drawn to them. I want to sit with them and hold them, I want to stroke the covers and open them but not just read them I want to devour the contents of these books. It’s a weird feeling. I feel as drawn to them as I do to Leo.