Voldemort Book Design Novels & Stories

The Secrets of the Tome Tension was high as Kael and Zara gathered close to the tower's base, the first dim rays of dawn piercing the dense fog. Zara lay on the chilly ground with the old book in her arms, as Kael stood guard, his blade still in hand. The warmth of the crystal, which had faded to a gentle light, served as a continual reminder of its existence. Zara traced the elaborate designs engraved on the leather as she brushed her fingers over the book's faded cover. Every design appeared to have a slight pulse, as though it were living. She whispered, "This book feels like it's breathing."

He shrugged, his own concentration stuck on the book. He was curious as well as I was. Finally, I gave the book a long scrutinizing look, turning it this way and that all the while buying Neilla time. It was a book alright, one without a way to view its content. It had a vial like structure fixed into the hard cover on the front. In that vial was blood slushing as I moved the book about. It was off-putting in every way including the foul odor emanating from it. I flicked at the cover with my middle finger, raising my eyes in surprise when Sapphira flinched.

A temporary hiding place before we inevitably end up where we always do contemporary and queer romance. Our natural habitat. I pick up a book with a massive dragon painted across the cover and slowly rotate it in my hands. Fantasy covers go hard. The artwork is ridiculous in the best way. Every scale on the dragon has been illustrated with obsessive detail. Blue melting into green, green into purple, purple streaked with gold. The colors swirl like magic itself spilled across the page. It’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at. My lips wobble slightly. “I like him so much,” I whisper.

•• Victoria’s POV ••• The sunlight spilled through the tall glass windows of my office, dancing across the polished wooden floors and the gold-trimmed bottles lined neatly on the shelf. A soft breeze rustled the sheer curtains, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine—my personal blend. My sanctuary. My empire. I closed the last presentation file and leaned back, stretching my fingers. We’d just finalized the packaging concept for our next release—Eclipse—and the design was exquisite. This should be more successful than Reborn if the data we gathered from the werewolf community indicates it.

The air in the Serrated Scroll library was thick with the scent of old leather, slowly curing vellum, and the low, ozone-like hum of dormant magic. Towering shelves carved from obsidian and bone stretched into a gloom that even demonic eyes struggled to pierce, each one groaning under the weight of knowledge too dangerous for any other realm.

Countless books lined the shelves. Leaning forward, I picked up an old, rusty spellbook. After brushing off the dust and cobwebs, I opened it to find potions, magics, and spells of all kinds. “But how do I know which is the right one?” I wondered aloud. A brief silence followed. Then, a noise came from the back. My heart skipped. Moving closer to investigate, I spotted a small, aged book on the floor. Picking it up, I skimmed the first few pages. The book focused mainly on werewolves. Opening it further, my eyes widened—there, written boldly on the middle page, were potions, spells, and a cure for werewolf illness.

Lord Yong opened the book and started looking for the antidote to break the curse. He continued to turn page after page with a menacing taste of what's to come. The front page of the book was dark and coarse, the pages had turned yellowish. Spells and amendments were written on each page of the book. The pages of the book are said to be made of vellum of animals.

Harold stammered, trying to sound like a student found smoking in the school environment was something that happened everyday. “You're cool,” the student said with eyes of administration as he walked to Harold. His breath as he neared Harold was choky but he, Harold, didn't say or do anything. “My name is Drew and I'm a vampire. That explains why this room is —” he looked around the room in one glance then back at Harold “— this way.” He expected a verbal response from Harold and when there was none, he continued. “We can make some changes in here if that's what you'll like.” He took in long, deep breath and out, causing the smoke to make his voice not too visible.

But in his hands, a book. Thick. Heavy. Bound in a material that looked like stone and metal fused together. Veins of silver and dark crystal pulsed through it, like it was still alive, breathing. Ancient symbols lined the cover, Veydrin script, sharp and elegant, curling around a single emblem at its center: A fractured star, stitched together by threads of light and shadow. Every one of them stared. Not because it was strange. Not because it was new.

Grand, with a vaulted ceiling arched high, painted with constellations and mythic beasts, towering shelves rising like walls, carved from dark oak and lined with books. “Here.” He pulls out an old book, its cover black and edged in gold. At the center gleams a golden wolf’s head, bared teeth frozen in a snarl. Behind it, a raven spreads its wings wide, poised as if descending from the sky. Grimm opens it. The pages are an old, yellowish color, but intact. “Most of the Raven Wolf King books here are written to sound like fantasy, as if he were just a fairy tale. This one’s the one you want. Depicts date‑to‑date events.”