La Llorona Drawing Novels & Stories

My sketch. The one I had hidden inside my shoe. “I found this earlier this morning,” Selena said sweetly, feigning innocence. “It was lying just outside Aurelia’s room. I thought it was strange, so I brought it to Luna Shannon’s attention.” She opened it slowly, displaying it for everyone to see. My drawing of the underground chamber. The blood marks, the symbols, the altar, I had drawn everything in detail. A murmur ran through the room. I froze, my throat dry. “That’s not...”

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

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.

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.

“But I do need to show you something.” She takes my hand and leads me to her desk. Opening a drawer, she pulls out a small stack of papers. She holds them out to me, and I take the stack. They’re children’s drawings in crayon. “I found those in Bryony’s room,” Willow explains. Our three-year-old daughter's drawing isn’t a concern. It’s the subject matter in her drawings that makes me pause. There are drawings of wolves in cages, a bloody wolf on the ground with a knife sticking out of its neck and a black sun with a smaller blue circle inside of it.

She spits at Jolene’s feet and screams, “ You’re an abomination!” Rora and Luna are about to lose their temper, but Jolene stops them, “I know where to go!” They look at her and she reassures them, “my wolf read his mind. I know where to go, I can draw a map!” Jolene runs out and they chase after her. All you hear is a thud from when they fall to the ground. The woman comes running out after them, but Rora uses her powers to fling her back into the house and lock her in there. Jolene drew the map and they make their way to find her soul mate.

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*.

I ask him. He frowns and looks ahead of us. “No lie, it no beautiful.” My eyes widen. “How can you say that?” He looks at me and starts crying again. He places his head on my shoulder and whimpers, “I drew it Luna, but she no like and throw way.”

But that wasn’t what he was drawing today. There was a picture of two girls—rendered crudely in crayon, but still identifiable as girls. One of them had short blond hair and the other had long brown braids. Their hands were on their faces and their mouths open in screams. David had drawn these as big black circles. A huge black shadow hovered before them, a shapeless body with red eyes and clearly defined hands. The hands looked like long silver knives. There were many drawings before this one. Lauren wondered how long David had been at it.

"But not that you were part of the prophecy. I only realized it myself when Leila Graves drew your picture before she died." I reached into the box again and removed a rolled canvas. When I spread it on the table, Orion gasped. Leila's drawing showed three figures standing together—Amara, recognizable even though she'd been just a child when Leila died; a woman with flowing dark hair who we now knew was Leila herself; and a guy with a scar across his jaw. Orion touched the scar on his own face, similar to the one in the drawing. "Why tell me now?" he asked.