Weeping Willow Poem Novels & Stories

she added kindly, her presence both comforting and unbearably poignant. Forcing a nod, I turned away, gripped by a fierce need to escape the suffocating weight of my friends’ well-meaning concerns. Their voices dropped into whispered fragments, fading as I headed for the back door. The night wrapped around me like a shroud as I leaned against the cold brick wall outside, searching the sky for answers that would never come. My body felt like it was on fire, emotions tearing at me, demanding release. I had to breathe—to escape the cloying grip of the last few hours. But with each inhale, memories of Willow surged back, stronger and more unfettered than before. Her voice, her eyes, the icy ange

Her wolf crooned in her mind and Willow immediately felt herself getting wet. “Fuck" Willow cursed at the scenes that flashed in her mind and also at the fact that she could smell her arousal that was filling the air. She was standing with her back to Barbara as she admired herself in the gown in the mirror. Willow felt too ashamed to look back to see if Barbara had caught a whiff of the scent of her arousal. She just fled the dressing room into where she would change out of the magnificent gown.

’ I listen in rapt silence as my beast confirms Rose’s assumption. “It is these last twelve names that Willow thought she recognised, and the poem on the next page made her nervous, but she doesn’t know why.” She runs her shaking finger down the last twelve names on the list and her nervousness thrums over our bond. What is in that poem that could affect her and her wolf like this? I look down, my wolf looking through my eyes, and his ‘Oh fuck.’ Inside my head makes my stomach drop.

saying she can't leave the willow tree > *A young man walked through the forest—with a flower and coat of green. His love had hair like fire, her eyes an emerald sheen. She wrapped in herself in beauty—so young and so serene. He stood there under the willow and gave her the yellow bloom. “Girl, my heart you’ve captured—oh, I would be your groom.” She said she’d wed him never—not near, nor far, nor soon.> “See me now, oh ray of hope in the moon dance,

But as they drew closer, something compelled her to glance in their direction. In that moment, her eyes widened. It was Vanessa. If Vanessa had once resembled a vibrant, blooming flower, she now looked like a withered branch on the verge of collapse. Her body was skeletal, yet her stomach bulged unnaturally large. She carried an air of lifelessness that even strangers couldn't ignore. Whispers rose around her. "Is that Vanessa Bane? Did I see that right? What happened to her? Did the Waldorf family stop feeding her?" Someone nearby sneered.

We moved through the waking forest as the first rays of sun painted the sky, the mood solemn, funereal. The Weeping Pool was exactly as I had dreamed it. Isolated, silent, and heavy with a palpable sorrow. The ancient willows formed a natural cathedral around the dark water, their drooping branches creating a veil. It was a place of endings. "The deepest pool," Nolan murmured, his voice hushed in the quiet gloom. "It fits the description." Adrien stood at the water's edge, his expression grim as he stared into the inky depths. "How do we find it? Dragging the pool could take days."

Willow POV I don’t know how long I stand there. It could be seconds. It could be hours. But when I finally move, my legs feel weak, and my eyes sting. I rush to the nearest bathroom, shoving the door open and leaning over the sink. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, but they fall anyway. I turn on the tap, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the humiliation Get it together, Willow.

The door was still just a doe skin that covered the opening. “Yes, I have seen your eyes. The way you move. The heartache you hide,” he said. Willow felt slight pressure behind her eyes. “I have lost so much. I don’t even know how long I have been here.” Willow said. He looked confused again, so Willow just sighed. It wasn’t like she could explain it to him. The man didn’t seem to think as Falling Feather did. “Weeping Willow.” He spoke, but didn’t really know why he said it. A name that popped into his mind.

"Your wolf was exhausted from the silver exposure. You needed the mending sleep. If the fatigue still weighs on your bones, I will tell the elders to return to their dens until dawn." Willow shook her head, her gaze steady. "No. My spirit is restless. Let us descend." "Elaine, I am standing. I am whole. Please, stop the weeping," Willow whispered for the tenth time, though her mother’s grip remained a vice, her face buried in Willow’s neck as soft sobs shook her frame.

The air shimmered faintly ahead. There. Between two bent willows, near the dark line of water. The whisper formed into something closer to language. Not spoken. Sung. Closer. The sound did not echo in my ears. It echoed in my bones. I pushed through the reeds. And stopped. She lay half-hidden beneath the low droop of a willow’s branches. Mud streaked across her clothes. Her hair matted. One side of her face swollen and purpled. Blood dried dark along her temple.