Wailing Cry Novels & Stories

He dropped everything and yelled for the others to help him stabilize it with their spells. Inside the manifestation, Aria smiled as the spirits pressed closer. The nearer they came, the stronger their vengefulness felt. There was pain, begging, and fury. Every single one had their mouth hanging open, as if they were trying to speak. But if one really listened, all they'd hear were sounds that could shred their sanity. This was the Wailing March. It only showed up in manifestations fueled by Malathrans. The stronger someone's arcane power was, the easier they'd get caught by this trap.

The cries of their anguish were excruciating. A sudden chill ran down Dirk's spine as he stared wide-eyed at the Lycgers, who were crying loudly, trying to alleviate their pain. But they were powerless against it. They cried even louder, clutching their sides and begging for it to end. Tears streamed down their faces, and their bodies shook as every muscle seemed to be torn apart. But the torment wasn't over. Dirk's knees buckled from the overwhelming horror. He felt sickened witnessing their distress, backing away in horror as his legs gave way under him. He could only watch the scene unfolding before him.

Tears falling like an neverending waterfall from my eyes. I didn't have to mindlink my father, he already knewn she was gone by the snapping of the mate bond, letting him known she was dead. The screams I heard from my father that night were sounds you would never think a grown man could make. His screams mirroring that of a banshee, ear piercing cries rang through out the bathroom, bouncing off the silver tile walls.

"Oh... Oh... Oh..." The sound was filled with sorrow and agony.

We are one in the eyes of the Goddess and share our pain. Let us all raise our voices to the Goddess and carry their souls to her. ~~~~~~~~~~ Narrator A great howl rose above the mountain and began to roll down into the valleys surrounding it. It washed through the slopes and down onto the plains. Werewolves in High Valley heard the mournful cry and could not help but carry the refrain. It spread through the pack as every member heard and repeated the call. It continued over the plain as wolves traveling across it heard and carried the grief outward and onward, reaching hearts beyond the mountains that mourned so deeply.

And the earth halted on its axis. An unbecoming sound left my lips, and a deep ache settled in my chest knocking all the air out of my lungs. I pulled the girl's dead body to my chest and crumbled as everything disappeared from around me. I could hear a pained cry from a distance, so loud. Very heart-wrenching. Like a wailing widow consumed by great grief. My throat burned, and my mind registered a little too late that the cry was coming from me. I was making that noise, I was grieving!

Scared of not being able to see his face after I die. My heart hates me for loving him............ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I cried my heart out. My eyes are burning. Feeling dead left all alone in the dark long passage, in the cold starless night. My eyelids become heavy, mind not being able to process anything. The cold night breeze hitting my body made me shudder to the coldness. I hugged myself protectively from the cold breeze. My head slowly rested in the near wall, sleep taking its toll over me. "Hey! Wake up" I could feel a voice reaching out to me in the distance.

My wailing stole away my voice and I wailed hugely and shook my head in pity… Something was about to happen…

Eulalia gently stroked the singed fur of the ragdoll cat, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably. Her gray eyes were filled with moisture, stinging painfully. Her eyes were either unable to cry or unable to stop once they started. Now they seemed almost blind with grief. She tilted her head back, veins bulging in her neck, mouth slightly open and eyes tightly shut as she let out a hoarse, anguished cry. Her choked, raspy voice was broken, like a rusty knife scraping against a whetstone - so harsh and painful to hear that it made one's heart clench.

Not adult crying, but infant crying—high-pitched, desperate, the sound of a newborn announcing its arrival into a world that wasn't prepared to receive it. "My baby—" Her past self's voice, thick with tears and exhaustion and desperation. "Please don't—don't take him—" More crying. Movement—shuffling, dragging sounds that suggested someone struggling to move while physically incapacitated. "Help—" So quiet now, barely audible. "Someone help me—" A door closing. The crying growing more distant. Then suddenly louder again—a second baby, making its own dramatic entrance, her miracle child, Rhysand. And through it all, her own voice. Crying. Begging. Screaming in ways that tore at her throat, so