Voldemort Book Design Novels & Stories

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...

Peaceful. Vespera Hale walked along the mahogany shelves, trailing her fingers over the spines of the books. Philosophy. Strategy. History. She stopped. On a shelf at eye level, nestled between The Art of War and a first edition of The Count of Monte Cristo, was a book she didn't recognize. It had no dust jacket. The binding was matte black, textured like volcanic rock. The lettering on the spine was silver, sharp and angular. SAVAGE REBORN.

“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.

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.

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.

I had taken the initiative to call her by her name. She smiled at me and sat upright. "Good to see you too Isabella," she replied to me. Jackson was whispering some irrelevant things to me and I looked at him with disgust. “Sorry?” I ignored him and I opened the file on the table, I pointed out the third design. It was a combination of green and black with hints of purple. “I like this, it’s not red and black for a change and it gives out the villain aesthetic still,” I explained as I pointed at the designs at the side. "Red and black has become too cliche, it is the best but it is cliche," I said to her.

It had felt real. Welcome rays of daylight and reality peeked through dark blue sheaths as his bedroom curtains came into focus. He scanned the familiar clutter that lay on the black dresser and armoire by the door, as well as on the nightstand to his right. His eyes fell to the stack of books lying there. To root himself he read the titles: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, Running With Scissors, and Corrections. Underneath them lay Books Do Furnish a Room, photographs of home libraries he loved to look at to inspire his design creativity. He was an architect after all, even if he was a werewolf.

“How much of it is about the portal?” Cassidy asked, jumping right in. Ward carefully opened the book to a point about three-fourths of the way into the volume, which looked to be about three hundred pages long. The sheets were a discolored yellow, and the ink, had clearly changed colors in several places, varying from a dark black to a lighter gray. It was clear the entire tome had been handwritten. Cadence envisioned an ancient Vampire sitting down with squid’s ink or the blood of a freshly beheaded chicken to dip his crooked talon in a well and scratch each letter out on the page.