Wall Art Of Books Novels & Stories

The blonde return her gesture and soon, they were on their way into her study. On entering the study, Theodore admired Alexandra’s vast collections of books. The raw smell of paper and ink danced in the air, mixing pleasantly with her usual Lavender perfume. On the wall, just above her chair, hung the original Starry night by her favorite artist Vincent Van Gogh. But what seemed to catch his eyes out of all the vast treasures was a corner dedicated entirely too different collection of manga, manhwa and manhua series. The blonde marveled at what was in front of him, a snort leaving his lips the very next second.

While it’s probably the same size, the whole feel of the room is vastly different. The ceiling featured a stunning Fresco painting that depicted the lunar cycle. Instead of showing the cycle as the moon itself, it was shown against a wolf’s face. Built-in shelves lined the walls except for the window seat and the wall with the door. The shelves were filled with books of many genres. Many looked very old and well-read based on the wear and tear on the binding. I wanted to touch them. I want to read them all. Has the Alpha read all of them?

that's what I thought. Alden opened a door and let us in first. He also locked it behind us. The room was wide and full of books and painting stuff. The big and wide shelves were nailed to the walls and inside were encyclopedias from different generations. On the other side, were top-selling novels and sonnets from famous authors around the world. There were also some written in Italian, Arabic, and Japanese. Was Martin a bookworm? I touched the edge of the painting, it was obvious this was original and expensive. I glanced at the man beside me and saw his eyes glisten. Alden was pouring three glasses of brandy at the counter. There were racks of wines mounted at the corner.

What caught his eye, though, were the walls. They weren’t plain. Painted murals covered them—floral vines curling up corners, bursts of wildflowers across panels, a soft mountain range blooming into a pastel sky, a tree growing from the shape of a heart. There were framed paintings, too. Small ones. Dreamy portraits, abstract shapes, gentle landscapes. Everything felt… alive. It was like stepping into Riah’s mind. Creative. Unpretentious. Full of life. Riah closed the door behind them and slipped off her shoes. “Come in. Sorry, it’s a bit cramped.”

It was screaming death from every corner of it. There was a giant painting, painted on the wall which showed a... sunset with a lot of orange and a bit of blue color and darkness at the end, representing a dense forest. A table was placed in front of the wall, and both sides of the table were covered with giant bookshelves consisting of almost a hundred books. Candles were placed almost everywhere in the room while a giant old almirah stood at the right corner of the room. The left wall had some wooden shelves, consisting of some bowls and other things, which made me sigh; that was a pretty high level witch shit.

The windows were large but covered with sheer gray curtains that muted the light, giving the entire space a brooding atmosphere. But what caught Harper’s attention the most was the wall to the right. It was lined with bookshelves, each filled to the brim with novels, journals, and leather-bound collections. Some books looked new, their spines crisp and untouched, while others were worn, as if read countless times. Harper’s lips parted slightly in surprise. Eros reads? She stepped closer, letting her fingertips drift across the spines. Titles on philosophy, business, ancient history. A few fictional books were tucked in between, but the overall selection screamed serious, intense, and mysteri

I said as I continued to stare at the inside of the library. Termites have infected some shelves and books. The light from outside is seeping through the old, hazy windows that appear to have been taken by the ages. There are a few ruined wooden tables and chairs. The walls are covered in a dreamlike wallpaper design that, despite its age, is attractive to the eyes. A few black and white vintage photographs in frames hang on the empty walls. The photographs show many people, some of whom were reading books inside and outside the library, and some were conversing with each other.

I half expected some of the books to disintegrate, spewing and scattering pages along the floor. Dark leather furniture sat in the middle of the room, in the center of the looming book shelves. Mason and I plopped down on the dark leather sofa, my eyes trailing the library around us. I felt as though I were sitting in the center of a tornado, a swirl of books surrounding us. Breyona gave us an each a tentative glance and headed over to the far wall. In between book shelves, a large painting hung on the wall. I found myself wanting to laugh at Breyona's parents for their obvious hiding place. The painting was of an older man, no doubt a figure from our History. The frame was a thick and gilde

He shook her from his mind and pushed open the doors to the study. The rug-lined room was bigger than B’s above-garage apartment. Floor to ceiling bookshelves dampened any noise B might made in his whiskey search. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of space on any one of the shelves. Books of all colors, textures, and sizes were packed together. In front of the book spines sat hundreds of little treasures–seashells, pocket watches, glass figurines, and carvings of creatures. So many creatures. B let his fingers drift over the book spines: The Picture of Dorian Gray. The Catcher in the Rye. The Odyssey. Brave New World. The Call of the Wild. White Noise. So many stories he’d never read and

I also prayed earnestly that he didn’t forget me here. I spotted a bookshelf at the far end of the room and decided to look through it in hopes of finding something to read. The majority of the books were about werewolves and the pack’s history. There were also books about politics, war, and governance. I would have loved to pick up the book that contained information on all members of the Crescent Moon Pack, but I decided against it. It would seem like snooping. I finally settled on a book titled ‘The Art of War.’ Not that I was a fan of violence but I was curious to know why the author had referred to war as an art. It was such a controversial claim.