Miraculous Ladybug Sketches Novels & Stories

Regardless, saying I saw that coming — especially this soon — was a lie. Mira walked in shortly after Yvette left to clear the table. I had already warned her about being too free with Yvette and letting her do something as mischievous as swimming naked, so I let her do her job without reprimanding her. As soon as she left, I pulled a book from my drawer. It had plain beige pages and had stayed with me from my childhood… I turned to the most recent page that had an uncompleted sketch on it. Brilliant curves… messy bun… slim legs… I instinctively gave the sketch a freckled face and lips pressed into a thin line. Charming eyes with defiance burning through them.

Something she made for her dad, to gift her dad but never got to do. Uncomfortable with the silence, I pick one of the sketches, a pencil drawing of a model-thin lady without a head. The focus of the artist is on the skirt. Cinched at the waist and flared at the knee. There are too many of them spread out on El’s desk. The designs vary but some are repeated with little improvements. “What are these?” I ask. El yawns again. I carry her to the long couch in one corner of her office and place her between my legs. Her back presses to my chest, I massage her shoulders and she lets out a grateful sigh.

I glanced at a few of the books, some fantasy novels and a small sketch pad. I opened the sketch pad and looked through it, she was good. Really good. The scenes were mostly outdoors. Forests, waterfalls, mountains. All done with such grace and precision. Each more lovely and realistic than the last. I noticed at the bottom there was a J written as beautifully as the drawings themselves. I got to the last page and there was a drawing of a moon. Bright and beautiful in the sky but there was something else to it. The drawing felt sad. “What the hell.” I snapped as I lifted my hand and wiped a tear from my cheek.

Then she turned off the lamp, and Lila rolled over, hugging her koala tight. Before she fell asleep, she thought about the picture she’d drawn. The big pink tree. The people underneath. And how, in the corner of the page, she had drawn a tiny hummingbird. It wasn’t perfect. The wings were uneven and the eyes were too big. But it was flying. Just like her. A storm rolled in that night—sudden and sharp. The wind howled against the windows, rattling the glass like ghosts trying to get in. Thunder cracked across the sky like a warning. The lights flickered once, then steadied.

So I decided to draw it in my sketch book I found from my mother's belongings and some toys which she kept for me before leaving me for ever. I draw the flower beautifully and carefully not wanting to ruin it with my shaky hands. I was hoping that if it will turn out good then I will offer it to my mother who became a star. After the flower was done it carefully started filling it with baby pink color wanting it to look same to same, as the real one. When I got done with the petals then I started filling the leaves with the dark green color but suddenly the sketch book snatched away from the hands and in a snap all the colors on the floor. I raised my head and

Her eyes alight upon scattered sketches strewn across the surface, drawing her in with an irresistible pull. Picking up one of the sketches, she is met with the striking image of a wolf, its form captured in intricate detail. As her gaze flits to another sketch, a closer view of the wolf reveals its menacing features—fangs bared and saliva dripping, an embodiment of primal ferocity. A series of similar sketches follow, each portraying the majestic yet fearsome creatures in different poses. A furrow creases Rose's brow in puzzlement as she contemplates the artist's apparent fixation on these lupine subjects.

Nicole. “Heidi…” my heart softened as I dropped to my knees beside her. “I’m gonna put them back, I promise. I just wanted mum to stay here for a while.” One of her drawings rested ont he table too, almost covered by mum’s scarf. I pulled it from under there. It wasn’t the best picture but I could tell it was two older women with a child in between them. One of the women’s hair was done with a yellow pencil while the other was black, the child had tiny dots around her head to imitate hair, but what they all had in common was the yellow circles hovering over their heads and the triangle wings.

“Yes, ma’am.” As she moves toward the flat-screen across the room, I return to the suitcase, pulling out one of Liam’s sketchbooks. The cover is bent, the corners smudged with fingerprints, but inside? Dinosaurs. Rainbows. One drawing of a house with three stick figures: one tall, one medium, one small. He’d labeled them—Mommy, Liam, and Daddy Knoxx. I press the sketchbook to my chest and try not to cry. The TV clicks on.

I whispered but none of us seemed to know the answer. "The herb you came for, what does it look like?" Mistress Iris asked suddenly. I hesitated, careful not to reveal yet that I had already taken it from Jada. "I have the sketch," I said, handing it over. I had made a second copy after leaving the original at Ravenfur with Adams. They both snapped shocked, horrified gazes at the paper. "What's wrong? Do you have it?" Alaric asked. They stared at the sketch as if to confirm their worst fears.

As night fell, Jean locked himself in his room, pen poised over a blank canvas. With eerie anticipation, he created a bone-chilling sketch. In his creation, two Alexas were depicted side by side. One version of Alexa had a soft and innocent look with pastel colors. This was Gilbert's longing, captivated by her gentle charm. In contrast, another Alexa, dressed in bold red and black. Jean was drawn to this one, a woman he "created" to be his.