Miraculous Drawings Novels & Stories

Directly on a single illustration. Mira swallowed. I saw it. She saw me notice. Neither of us commented. Together we walked closer. The image covered both pages. An old drawing. Faded with age. Most of the ink had disappeared. But one figure remained visible. A woman standing beneath a crescent moon. Long dark hair. Silver markings across her skin. The artist had drawn her face poorly. Yet something about it felt familiar. Mira crouched beside the book. I stayed standing. Her eyes narrowed. "That's weird." "What is?" She pointed. The figure's face. At first I didn't understand. Then I looked again. And my stomach tightened.

She had no plans of leaving. She opened her bag and brought out a file containing the project she was working on. It was a total of ten drafts and three final sketches she had drawn within an approximate of two days. The first two drafts were pretty messy but she began achieving what her expected sketches from the third draft. She first presented two pictures that that given her inspiration to the woman. The first picture was that of a lady standing opposite a mirror from which there was a hand presenting to her a red flower that was slowly melting to blood. Bewitched by the mirror, the lady stretched forth her hand to take the melting flower.

And when the city least expected it, she would bring another impossible child into the world. In the yard, Mira ran to the others, waving her new drawing overhead, and for a moment it seemed the whole city bent toward her, listening for the signal, waiting to be called alive.

“So get going everyone. Bring out your pens and notebooks and try drawing them as and when possible. Your Luna will help you if you get stuck but it’s pretty much a lot of practice and patience till you all learn to draw them.” Madeleine went to the whiteboard and erased everything we had written previously. Taking out a marker, she began drawing it, “So these are the set of runes, I had drawn on the wooden stumps to free the wisps. I had to retrace it nine times in a circle to finally free them all. Hence, I do believe that we might have to draw it in a circle around the lich that will hold him in like a cage. To not confuse you, I will draw the mirror image…”

I held back a laugh when his eyes widened in surprise at the screen clearing again. “How did you do that? Is it like a computer? It doesn’t look like one.” “It’s magic,” I murmured as if it were a secret, making his expression grow even more amazed. “Here, it’s a gift for you. You can draw as many pictures as you want, every day.”

Underneath it, a sealed compartment. Inside: a black file. And a child’s drawing. She crouched. The glass was bulletproof, but familiar. The kind they used in containment chambers. Lucien’s voice was low. “What is that?” “I drew it when I was seven,” she whispered. “Rafael told me to sketch the day I realized I couldn’t be normal.” Lucien frowned. “What’s in the drawing?” Ember closed her eyes. “Me. Holding a gun. Pointed at a mirror.”

“Not dead. Not alive. Just waiting.” Later that morning, Moira sat in her office, rubbing her temples and staring at the boy’s drawings spread out across her desk. She had taken a few from under his mattress. Dozens of them. All in pencil, all in the same crooked, tunnel-like place. Some featured symbols. Some had clocks with no hands. Some had doors with eyes instead of doorknobs. And in almost all of them, the same woman appeared—dark hair, tired eyes, standing on steps that seemed to lead nowhere. Something was wrong.

she added. Mirabel shook her head. "There is a demon I once made an encounter with in another world, or should I say dimension." She said and opened the drawer in the table she was sitting on. She brought out an old scroll and stood up from the table and then proceeded to roll out the scroll on top of the table for all to see. "I drew her the moment I laid my eyes on her. I'm very good at drawing and painting. Her name is Rozra." Samira's eyes almost bulged out of her eyes, the picture Mirabel had shown to them was that of Rozralas.

[Sixteen years ago, in the city of Lenford…] - A single petal floated in front of his eyes. It was a cherry blossom petal, one that signaled the beginning of the tree’s full bloom in spring. It was the first thing Michael McGregor saw before a girl about his age suddenly walked up to him, her hand tightly gripping the strap of her shoulder bag.

Beside the paper and pen lay a thin box with a set of graphic pencils. A drawing kit? I opened the pad immediately and began to draw, the dream pouring through me like water down a cliff. It was vivid and fast, my fingers moving on instinct and guided by the memory that wad etched into my mind. The dizzying swirl of numbers, the images in the holographic screens, the massive glowing codes. I drew it as perfectly as I could, adding the faces of my children. After several minutes, I felt no more inspiration coming, so I sat back and stared at the sketch. My fingers had gone sore, my breathing a bit shallow.