Novel & Cerita Voldemort Book Design

Back to the front cover. Kenneth gave me this book as a present. For drawing purposes, I know it's a sketchpad with white blank papers. Just ordinary... Yet now, I'm witnessing with my own two eyes how the plain abstract cover erased its colors, transforming into something red with cursive design at the center. Written in thick italic letters, THE BOOK OF STRINGS wrote itself as if there's an invisible hand with golden ink writing them. If I'm in my right state of mind, I would have screamed, tuck my tails, and bolt to ask for help. But I did nothing of those...

“Is it sort of museum stuff? I mean important?” “Yes. And Yes. Because if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t have hypnotized me.” Scarlet replied. “Can you describe the book? What does it look like? Was it your design book? Oh my God, Scarlet. Don’t tell me that fuckingly handsome professor stole your designs. It’s theft. It’s a forgery. It’s blasphemy. It’s…”

The real Bella. I immediately recognized that familiar looking book. I saw it among Bella's book collection when I first came into this world. It stood out due to its large size. But I had never opened it before. The title of that book was 'The Darkest Art.' I mean, even the title was suspicious. So what do you expect me to do? Call me silly, but I learned from 'Harry Potter' not to open any suspicious looking book. Who knows what's inside? Considering Bella's character, it could be housing the soul of a random dark lord for all I know. So, of course I didn't want to take the risk.

The woods looked like it was carved by a profound lover of literature. The architectural design of the inside is Victorian, the stairs were obviously built first, arching like the end of a cat's tail before ascending to the first floor. The inside is warm and inviting compared to the dingy outlook. Books that ranged from the ancient trilogy, erotic, motivational, science, and bibles were arranged in a relaxed vertical position. Upon closer inspection, I could see scratches, the wood was a little paler where it had dinged. I touched the roughness not minding one bit when a loud booming baritone startled me and ended my daydream.

I glanced up at him, lips quirking despite myself. “I’m not summoning any dead yet,” I said. “But maybe… we’ll keep this book close. Just in case.” He smirked. And the library’s torches flickered around us like they approved. ***** The moment I opened the book, I expected it to be unreadable. Ancient glyphs. Arcane markings. Cursed symbols glowing faintly with forbidden mana. Instead—block letters. Neat, plain block letters. Necromantic Fieldwork Journal And Personal Notes

Hale studied the gown silently for a long moment. Then his expression softened with something that looked almost sad. “You’re adjusting faster than I expected.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “Adjusting?” I repeated. “I’m surviving. There’s a difference.” The room fell quiet again. I reached for my sketchbook and flipped through several pages before stopping abruptly. One design in particular made my stomach twist. Dark colors, sharp edges with dangerous elegance. Without meaning to, I had designed something inspired by Dante. Powerful, seductive and terrifying.

I was about to give up when my fingers brushed against something different. It was massive, bound in what looked like black, flayed skin, and heavy enough to make my muscles strain as I pulled it from its slot. It landed on the reading table with a heavy thud that sent a cloud of dust into the air. I wiped the grime from the cover, my breath catching in my throat. The title was embossed in faded silver script: Vampiric Death and Rebirth.

The air in Finch’s study was a stratified history of scents: the dry, vanilla-like fragrance of aged paper, the rich perfume of leather-bound books, and the faint, herbal aroma of forgotten tinctures that seemed to cling to the very wood of the walls. Jack sat before a massive oak desk, its surface a battlefield of carved griffins and chimeras. Laid open before him was not a sleek data slate or a modern file, but a heavy, vellum-bound tome. Its pages were yellowed and brittle with age, covered in an elegant, spidery script that spoke of centuries of secrets.

Then a photo popped up. A close-up of a study. Dim lighting. A mahogany desk. A glass of dark red liquid. And right in the center, an open ancient parchment book. My fingers froze over the keyboard. My smile died. The blood drained from my face, leaving my limbs freezing cold. Stamped on the cover of that book was a dark gold crest. A snake eating its own tail, with a bleeding ruby for an eye. The Ouroboros crest of the Valerius vampire clan.