La Llorona Drawing Novels & Stories

Her phone was still in her hand, the last words of Selena’s call echoing through her mind like a gunshot that hadn’t hit yet. He’s a target. A big one. Her eyes drifted back to the table, to where Pearl had left her half-finished lemonade beside a napkin covered in doodles. She stared at it absently. Then her gaze dropped. A corner of white paper peeked out from the side pocket of her bag. She reached for it. Unfolded it slowly. It was a drawing—crude, clumsy, and heartbreakingly earnest. Stick figures holding hands, coloured with uneven crayon strokes. A triangle of yellow meant to be the sun, a purple heart floating between them. Above each stick figure, names were scrawled in shaky letter

"What is your name?" L-L-O-R-O-N-A "Llorona?" "Llorona?" Suddenly a strong wind blew in the room. The dust was flying so they had to cover their mouths and noses while coughing. Soon the wind stopped and the chest opened in two. Diana removed the board that was on top of the chest. They were shocked and flabbergasted. I had no idea what they were seeing at the moment.

So many years this was supposed to generate enough debt for bird women, which was good for Leonore because she had many requests. Leonore returned to the living room, watching the ferret-shaped demon run from little Uriel, who laughed and tried to reach the animal with the legs. She approached Icarus, who was sitting while looking at an ancient scroll, probably some message from their parents on the other side of the country. The woman stopped behind the groom, watching the drawings that were on the yellowish page.

No wonder Killian couldn’t look me in the eye this morning. I reach for the sketch pad Elara left by the nightstand. My fingers tremble, but I grip the pencil like it’s my lifeline. I don’t even think, I just draw. Symbols. Circles. Eyes with fire spilling from them. A wolf with a shattered spine. A crown that burns. A clock with no hands. My hand stops only when I notice the paper trembling beneath my touch. Not from me. From the floor. A low vibration hums through the wood. Like a warning.

he declared, his heart racing with excitement. Mia beamed, her eyes bright with imagination. “We should add illustrations to each section to bring the story to life visually. It will be like a storybook!” Leo nodded enthusiastically. “Let’s do it! I can’t wait to draw the storm scene and the family’s connection with the spirits.” Elara’s fingers danced across her sketchbook as she began to create vibrant images inspired by their words. They spent the morning illustrating their legend, each friend contributing their artistic flair to the pages. The cabin, the family, the storm, and the whispers all came alive in brilliant colors.

A stripe of soft blue from the nightlight cut across the floor. Lyra eased it open. Luna slept sprawled on her back, hair fanned around her head, wolf plush clutched under one arm like a shield. Her mouth was slightly open, a tiny snore barely audible. On the small table by the bed, under the plastic cup she used for water, another drawing sat. Lyra lifted the cup and picked up the paper. Four figures this time, not three. Small silver‑flecked wolf in the middle—*me*.

Kael stared at him. “That is the worst thing you’ve ever said calmly.” I barely heard them. Because my focus had shifted to the scroll Ronan had opened fully. There was a drawing near the center. Faded with age. But recognizable. A woman standing beneath silver symbols carved into stone. Wolves kneeling around her. And her eyes— Her eyes glowed silver. Exactly like the woman from my vision. My breath caught sharply. Ronan noticed instantly. “What is it?” I pointed slowly at the page.

The smell of spices filled the air gradually, grounding the house in routine that felt necessary after the chaos of the last day. Routine was survival now. Not comfort. Survival. “Come here,” Selena called suddenly. Her voice startled me slightly. I walked toward the table slowly, crouching beside her. “What is it?” I asked. She turned the paper toward me. It was a drawing. Crude. Simple. Childlike. But clear. Two small figures stood side by side. One slightly taller. One slightly smaller. Beside them was a large black shape. A wolf. My wolf.

Like a soft whisper brushing against my soul. And suddenly, I wasn’t there anymore. I was back… in the library. The moment replayed like a memory not quite mine. The heavy scent of old parchment. Dust swirling in the light. Silence. Then… that paper. It had drawn me in like gravity. I couldn’t explain it. I just had to open it. And when I did… Tears fell. Hot, unexpected, wild. Why was I crying over a stranger? She was sketched so delicately, her face graceful yet fierce…like royalty. A noble wolf. A Luna, maybe. But it wasn’t just the drawing.