Wilted Book Novels & Stories

After being told I was to marry a stranger, I tried to find some clues about the person I was to wed through the loving words that her mother had written about her. How the book got inside the very library we're in, I have no idea, but I do know that the sentiment expressed within those pages may bring comfort to the woman in front of me. “I was going to give it to you on the day of our wedding,” I quietly say as she gazes over the yellowed pages. “But as you well know, that day didn't really go as planned.” Violet eventually shut the book and held it to her chest. Soon after, uncontrollable sobs escaped from her scrunched up face and the silence of the library was filled with the sound of s

He just followed her but was hidden by a bookshelf next to the one she was checking out. She found the Native American history book and took it out of the shelf. She looked up at the other shelves if she could find some more interesting books when she found the book of “Zalmoxis.” She took it and she blinked when her heart started to pound so hard and so fast. She felt the book vibrated at her touch. She ran her tongue across her lips and looked for a table where she could sit down and scan it. She skimmed its pages while Kent followed her with a bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back. He smiled and stretched out his hand with the flowers near Elise’s face.

She needed a missile dropped on Willowdale that second. Her rotten luck had made her pick the most perverted book she had ever heard of even though she had never read it. At that point, if it was possible to die from embarrassment, she wanted to be the first to do it. “That's uh…” Professor Lucas's brows were now pinched together as his attention remained fixated on the book. The tops of his cheeks looked like they were tinged a light shade of pink. Or maybe it was the sunlight streaming in around them through the shelves but Marcella was still too mortified to respond to him.

Libro Vitae whispered its voice harmonious. "Libro Vitae, please show me where Alastair is hiding," I asked. The book hummed in response. Libro Vitae became warm in my hands. The cover opened, pages flipped continuously until they suddenly stopped. The words on the page jumped off the paper, floating into the air, wrapping themselves around me. In a blink of an eye, I was pulled into the book. Light flooded my vision. Every sound echoed around me. Voices raced past me, speaking in riddles. Some shouting, screaming, others a dull whisper. Libro Vitae's voice became louder as I watched the trees form around me.

The prince gave a nod. "I'm sure you'll persevere." "I guess I will..." Aurum muttered, returning his gaze to the open page of the book on his lap. "There are...other ways, however, ways to gain strength." Wes's curiosity was sparked. "What other ways?" Willow walked over to the bookshelf when she was alone in the room. She wanted to lie down or at least sit, but she had already sullied one of the prince's rooms and didn't want to sully this one as well. She took a quick look at the titles of each book. The majority of them were nonfiction. She reached for a history book after noticing it. A few papers slipped from the book and fell to the floor as she tried to take them out. She sat on the

The intentional neglect of this corner was a deliberate choice, a testament to the charm of the untouched and the allure of secrets waiting to be unraveled. Settling into a plush chair, Joseph cradled the book in his hands. The worn cover spoke of countless hands that had sought its wisdom, and the yellowed pages whispered tales of eras long past. As he opened the book, the fragrance of aged parchment wafted through the air, creating an olfactory tapestry that intertwined with the silent narratives within.

"I never touched her. I swear, I’ve never slept with her." Charles exhaled deeply, relief washing over his features. "Good. That’s good." With another dismissive wave, he signaled for the bodyguards to drag the two women out. Their cries and protests faded into the distance, silenced at last. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, its warm hues casting a somber glow over the vast estate. Both men stood in the garden, their gazes drawn to the wilted hydrangeas surrounding them. The flowers had withered, seemingly gone to sleep, with no telling when—or if—they would bloom again.

Suddenly, an uninvited guest crashed the wedding halfway through. It was Carlo. He was bony, wearing a wrinkled suit, and holding a wilted bouquet of roses. He staggered in front of me, babbling, "Rosa… look, I brought you your favorite roses. Won't you marry me? Let's get married today." Luca's bodyguards moved in to remove him, but I held my hand up. I took the wilted bouquet of roses and looked straight at him. "Oh, Carlo. Look at me. Take a good look... Whose wedding do you think this is? This is my wedding. Mine, and I'll be marrying Luca. And you? You're just a madman crashing someone else's wedding."

The ones that had survived every version of him and every place he'd lived. Her finger stopped on a dark green spine, the gold lettering almost entirely rubbed away. She tilted it toward her. Walt Whitman. *Leaves of Grass.* The most worn book on the shelf — the cover soft with handling, the corners rounded, the spine held together by old glue and what appeared to be sheer stubbornness. She pulled it out carefully and it fell open in her hands the way books fall open to the pages they've visited most, the paper remembering where it's been taken before.

My heart skipped. I moved closer, scanning the titles until one name leapt out at me like a struck nerve. Dead Viles… The moment I read it, my stomach twisted to nausea. I pulled the text free and opened it, my fingers trembling despite myself. Unlike Lunareeth, this book was filled with dense writing, diagrams etched in faded ink, and warning seals pressed into the margins. Dead Viles. A deadly, ancient poison. I started reading about it, and the more I read, the more my heart shuddered with a cold chill…