Wall Art Of Books Novels & Stories

In just a snap, we are now already inside our library. All this time I come here to study and read books I want, I did not know that at the end of it there is another room. “Hira, are you listening?” Alaric asks that made me turn my gaze onto him. We are now walking in an endless hallway. I can't help it but look around. The ones on display are amazing! There are lots of sophisticated paintings hanging on the walls. Numerous enchanted books are enclosed with glass cover. And there are even different kinds of a wand by the cabinet! In short, I feel like I'm in a museum.

A grand bookshelf stretched across one wall, filled with ancient-looking tomes and leather-bound volumes. The furniture was carved dark wood, polished so perfectly it gleamed even in the soft light. A massive desk sat near the window, scattered with papers, quills, and what looked like maps marked with red ink. But what drew me in most was the art. Paintings and sketches covered nearly every space not occupied by shelves, landscapes of forests, wolves under the moon, storms tearing across oceans. And then… my breath caught. There, near the far wall, above a small table covered with candles, was a sketch. It was unfinished, the strokes sharp, almost impatient.

Each book carried the weight of shared tales, whispered secrets, and dreams spun into the late hours of the night. The walls, adorned with art and mementos, seemed to breathe with the energy of their shared adventures. A guitar leaned against the corner, its strings echoing the melodies of impromptu jam sessions. The room itself, a silent confidante to their laughter and tears, embraced the memories with an air of melancholic nostalgia. Abigail paused by the window, where a pot of vibrant flowers stood—a testament to Sophia's love for simple, beautiful things. The fading sunlight filtered through the petals, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the walls, creating an ethereal backdrop for the

Just a quick look and I'll be out of there. With that, I quickly dashed up the stairs till I came face to face with a large, double door. I slowly pushed it open, only to be met with what looked like a mini library. It had lots of books lying around. The walls were covered in grey paints and more paintings were hung on them. Hyperrealistic paintings of wolves, just different colors and sizes of wolves. Some were creepy and some were looking innocent but it didn't make me stop wondering why someone will have these much paintings of wolves.

Each section was clearly labelled, handwritten in black ink on what looked like old parchment, and I let my fingers brush over the top of the smooth stones as I passed. There were shelves on every wall, stacked high with books: some looked old and worn, whilst others looked like new-age literature, freshly printed with glossy, colourful covers. There were wall hangings of all different shapes and sizes, some with chakras on, some with celestial patterns, and others with abstract shapes and sewn in earthy colours. I wondered if this was where Aradia had found my wall hanging, and the thought of her in here, shopping for me, made my heart swell.

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 on 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.

The walls have been beautifully painted, one of the pieces of artwork I bought from Max's gallery is hung, and about 12 large boxes labeled 'BOOKS' litter the floor, ready to be sorted and organised. "Thank you, I haven't decided on how I want to stack them. If I go by author or if I do a cool colour theme, lots of different options" I say with a happy sigh. I hear Rhode chuckle behind me as he wheels me back out of the room and back down the hallway. I know he thinks I'm ridiculous, but he does indulge me a bit in my crazy book loving life.

It closed behind them with a soft, solid sound, muting the party into a distant hum. The library was not a room of dusty books. It was a long, sleek space with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves made of dark walnut, filled with curated volumes on art, philosophy, and obscure histories. A few brutalist sculptures, angular, polished metal forms, stood on low plinths. The lighting was low and focused, pools of warm gold from recessed lamps, leaving shadows in the corners. One entire wall was glass, framing the same breathtaking city view, but now it felt private, owned.

Just expensive furniture and abstract art that looked chosen to impress rather than express. I passed through the living room, my attention drawn to a large bookshelf covering one wall. The collection impressed me—ancient texts on pack history, rare volumes on wolf magic, modern novels organized by genre rather than author. Many of the books looked unread, their spines uncreased. One leather-bound book caught my eye—its dark cover embossed with strange symbols that resembled no language I recognized. I reached for it, but it refused to budge. Odd. I tried again, pulling harder. The book remained firmly in place, as if glued to the shelf.

An indoor gothic water fountain welcomed us. There was a black marble statue of a beautiful mermaid, sitting on a huge rock, sensually curling her tail. Her fluttering hair covered her breasts. She was holding a book made from seashells in the middle of the fountain. Water magnificently sprayed out from the shell pages of that book. I looked around the art gallery. Its red walls were partially covered with paintings, portraits and pictures encased in intricately designed golden frames and some in glass box frames. There were statues carved in marbles, stones at intervals.