Alastor Drawing Outline Novels & Stories

In the end, I think they turned out great. Not that I knew what the others were for but there was also a frog on a log, a humming bird and a fat Cardinal. The very last one I was drawing was for Arlo. He got those picture for us, or more for me. It was of a wolf. It’s head was downward with his teeth showing. The hair was standing straight up with a human skull under it’s paw. There wasn’t any flesh on it, just the bones. Originally, I was going to make it a dead rabbit or something but this seemed appropriate. Keeping this one black and white, kept some of the mystery alive. “Charlotte??” Waylon yelled as he was coming in.

She was somewhere around seven or eight, completely absorbed in whatever she was drawing, her tongue pressed to the corner of her mouth in concentration. I lowered myself carefully into a chair near her, mindful of my ribs, and looked at the paper. The drawing was full. Not in a crowded way, in a deliberate way, like she had a clear picture in her head and was working her way across the page with intention. There was a dragon in the top left, red and blocky with impressive teeth. Below it, a woman in a red cape with a pointed hat on a flying broom, carefully coloured with a orange crayon. To the right of that, something with fangs and a dark cape that I was fairly certain was meant to be a v

But everything happened so fast after that. My body emitted a light, and it came from my stomach. The white mist enveloped me as his hand halted precisely at my chest. I felt his claws pierce my skin, but he didn’t go further, as if he were frozen or he had chosen not to go through with it. “No!” he hissed. Alastor’s black eyes widened as he threw his body back and landed on his ass. I still couldn’t move, but I could see him inching backward, his claws gripping the earth, and his expression was far from surprised — he was terrified.

Alastor replied dismissively. “What’s it for?” Ashton pressed. “That’s none of your business,” Alastor shot back, his demeanor shifting to one of irritation. He has to be an alpha since he confidently spoke to Ashton that way, and Ashton appeared to be wary around him. After a moment, Ashton asked out of the blue, “Are you responsible for the note?” “What note?” Alastor asked, puzzled. Either he doesn't know, or he is such a good actor. But we certainly can't tell that yet.

And then— A blank page fluttered open on its own. I didn’t touch it. My hands were still. The parchment was faded and torn at the edges, but in the center, a detailed ink drawing emerged—slowly, like bleeding ink coming to life. It was me. Dead. Laid out on a stone altar, pale and stiff. My eyes were open. Staring. Next to me stood Alika, her white gown soaked in blood, holding a ceremonial dagger carved with the Blackwell crest. She looked… empty.

He’s wearing a coffee filter as a hat, and someone drew a pirate’s eye patch, scars and a scruffy beard across his face. The guilty party is lying passed out on the floor nearby clutching a sharpie. Exhibit B. Alastaire’s fingers are stained black where they grip the marker. His burnished blonde halo of hair is messed up and lopsided in a way he’d never let it be while awake. He’s lying on his back, smiling that devilish angel’s grin of his, the very picture of rakish, aristocratic charm even in his sleep. Exhibit C.

But whatever Nathaniel was trying to say, their conversation was interrupted when Alisa suddenly flashed a piece of paper between them. “What is it, baby?” Serena asked. It was a drawing of a... family. The drawing wasn’t perfect. The figures were made of uneven circles and stick limbs. Faces were little more than dots and crooked smiles. Yet everyone was holding hands, clustered close together behind a big house. There was a mom, and… a dad. In between were two youngsters, clearly representing Bastin and Ali. “Mommy, I made that too,” Sebastian said, pulling out his own drawing and flashing it to both Serena and Nathaniel. “Look, Daddy.”

A single sheet of paper covered in crayons. At first, I smiled. She had drawn our family — stick figures holding hands under a bright yellow sun. Me with long brown hair. Nikolai tall and strong with gray eyes. Alora in the middle wearing her favorite pink dress. But then I noticed the shadow. In the corner of the garden, behind the flowers, was another figure. Tall. Dark. With no face — just a blank circle where a head should be. Red eyes drawn above it. Watching. My blood turned to ice.

“Not fucking creepy at all.” Each page held the name of different demons, Lucifer, Mammon, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, Leviathan, Belphegor, and Chaos. Each one had a short description alongside a sketched photo of the demon themself and a symbol. I’d read through each one, finally landing on Chaos. He looked different than the rest of the sketches, as if he were a last minute add to the book. The drawing of him was smeared, as if the artist rushed. His symbol was different. Less intricate than the others.

Her perfectly serene doll-like look was ruined however by the tired scowl which decorates her face. Rubisviel Fyaril, the Orchid Butterfly Witch of the Dark Forest wipes the sweat from her brow and huffed after completing a drawing of a Cthulhu symbol inside her circle. Thick black bags hang under her tired golden eyes and her face was paler than usual. Her head hurts like a battle-ax was splitting it open and her shoulders and legs are aching after prolonged hours of sitting on the ground and focusing on drawing the symbols.