Graphic Novel Page Novels & Stories

~Hannah’s Point of View~ “She puuuuur eddd… She … purred, and then the male wolf … mmmm ooo uuu… mooohh…” I trail off, making a face at the words. I cock my head to the side as I try to sound it out in my head. “Mounted… Mounted his female,” Scarlett says, nodding enthusiastically. My mouth drops as she moves to turn the page. What?! “It gets REALLY good after that so keep going. This is one of the graphic novels I have,” she says, excited.

I turned to the next page, which creased and wrinkled at my touch. Focus your mind on a single point, like gathering storm clouds in a turbulent sky. That was all on that page, and beneath the guide was the diagram of a human, which must possibly be a werewolf. The human eyes were shut, his right hand was raised slightly around the level of his abdomen, and his palm was widely open, as if trying to call something to his opened palm. That must be a pictorial guide to what was written at the top. I became more interested in what I was reading. This made me flip to the next page.

Cassie sat down, letting her heels sink into the grass, as Hope handed over the small leather-bound notebook she’d been sketching in. On the cover, written in delicate calligraphy, were the words: Our Story. Cassie opened it, her throat tightening. Inside were pages filled with drawings tiny moments from their lives: the day Ethan was born, family trips, Hope’s first day at school, her parents dancing in the kitchen. “I want to turn it into a graphic novel one day,” Hope said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “To show people what real love looks like.” Cassie wiped her eyes, speechless.

The cover was embossed with a symbol that looked like a twisted, enraged claw mark. Nate crossed the room, the ghost sense of Kieran’s touch still tingling on his skin. He stood beside his chair, close enough to feel the warmth coming from him, and peered down at the pages. The script was old, but the images were brutally clear: depictions of wolves, but different. They were monstrously big, their musculature exaggerated and vicious, with four separate, scary sets of fangs in their gaping maws.

As Ace flipped through the pages, the soft crackling of the paper filled the space. Ace's fingers moved skillfully over the pages, his eyes scanning each drawing with a mix of pain and yearning. As he turned the pages, I leaned in closer, mesmerized by his talent, my gaze fixed on his strong fingers gently handling each page. Each one unveiled a new design, a new narrative. On one page, I saw a boy gazing at a river, his face reflecting deep sorrow.