Marceline Drawing Novels & Stories

Marie asked, walking out of the room we were in with her food in her hand. “Let’s be realistic; where are we even going to get her photos? It’s not like someone somewhere in this mansion secretly made a painting of her,” Christine said. “Here’s a painting of Clarabelle." The voice of a maid who came by to collect her meal sounded as she placed a small scroll on our counter. I and Christine turned in her direction, and she continued, “I do a lot of painting and drawing in secret; I actually made one for all four of you, but they were destroyed during the war; this painting of Clarabelle is all that’s left. You can give it to her when she comes back to the mansion.”

Marceline entered one of the alleys, turned on the tap water, and began washing her hair and face. Her appearance transformed. Her original hair color returned, and her punk makeup disappeared. She removed all her earrings, adopting a more innocent look. Even the tattoo on her neck turned out to be a stick-on, similar to those used by children. Finally, Marceline changed into Saintly Woods' uniform. Suddenly, she looked like a typical high school student, free from trouble and drama. Now clean and tidy, Marceline entered a building and ascended to the third floor. Despite the moldy stench that pervaded the place, she paid it no mind. Finally, she stood in front of one of the most dilapidated

Marcel sneered and ignored their explanations, "She could also memorize all the styles in advance and then draw them little by little every day, just for show!" "I didn't..." Makenna defended herself, tears of injustice streaming down her face. "These are all my own drawings, if you insist on accusing me of plagiarism, then they must have copied my work first!"

I never planned on attending the school's Valentine's party, but when Ms. Sinclair, the visual art teacher, asked me for help to oversee the picture booth they'd rented just for the special event. It felt good that someone needed me for something, so I accepted it instantly. Now that I've had a terrible day at school, I regret having done so. I put on a V-neckline, crimson red dress that reached below my knees, black heels, and a red shawl around my shoulders.

The table that he had placed aesthetically near the balcony was asked to be moved elsewhere. Even so, there was no sign of fatigue on Marcel’s face, which was full of sweat. He had been working all day, hadn’t had breakfast, and had only eaten a slice of cheese bread that he had sneakily grabbed when serving breakfast. And by late afternoon, Marcel was still full of energy until he finished putting up the decorations as requested by Shirley and her siblings. “Marcel, how come you haven’t been seen all day?” Venya greeted when Marcel appeared in the lab after dark.

“I didn’t give it to please you.” “Good.” Silence settled between them. Unlike Bojie’s silence, this one offered no comfort. Unlike Draven’s, it did not heat the air. It pressed. Patiently. Intelligently. The way a thumb might press into soft wax to see what shape remained. Marcellus reached into a drawer and removed a narrow strip of parchment. It was blank. He laid it on the desk between them. “Touch it.” Amelia did not move. His gaze flicked to her hand, then back to her face.

Marcel with a twisted expression and a crease between his brows covered the doorway with his body. He wore grey sweatpants and a towel hung carelessly down his neck. Lazy drops of water fell from his dirty blonde hair and his eyes held that similar dangerous glint. The Marcel at the doorway had no freckles at all. His body was exactly the same with the freckled one. What in heaven's name was happening?! What sort of sorcery was this?! Lyra turned towards the Marcel in black pants who had halted whatever song was playing and back to the Marcel in sweatpants who looked like a dragon about to breathe out fire with the way anger burned in his eyes.

"If you don't visit us at least once this month, I'll be very sad." She smiled and excitedly replied, "I will!" Marceline got off her chair and went to the fridge. Pulling out a large lunchbox with a blue lid from it, she came back and sat on her chair. "A gift," she said as she handed it to me. "For moving out?" I asked and she nodded. I opened it and there were small snacks inside together with cupcakes that were a little overcooked. I smiled at her, touched that she even bothered. "Thanks, Peanut butterfly."

After naming Grace, Marcel locked himself in his room. he didn't want to talk or tell anyone about what he was going through now. Marcel just sat quietly in the corner of the bed his eyes felt very empty. it was very clear that he was exhausted because his eye bags looked blackened. Marcel only stared at a beautiful picture of his late wife's face that he still brought home after his wife was buried. Because that was all Marcel had. it was the only memory left for Marcel.

I’m so gonna beat his ass! I sit Marcel down on the couch and look at the clock on the wall. It’s one in the afternoon and I haven’t been eating correctly over the last week. I head over to my art room and bring back a stack of A3 sheets of paper and a box of wax crayons and another box with pastels in it. Placing them on the table, I look at the two of them, “Draw me some pictures while I make lunch for us,” I look at Marcel and order him, “Draw a picture for my mate and when he gets back, I want you to give it to him.”