Afterglow Poem Novels & Stories

“Let’s see it.” I turned the paper over, and revealed the poem scrawled in pencil on the back. Down the streets of woodland black I wander, earth to hearse In every tree I see a wave A looming tidal curse On the cusp of something greater Stood ankle-deep in floodwater Stagnant pools of brown and red The onslaught is coming; I dread For each dark night and each pearl day The mist does clear too soon The floodplain is drown’d again The water, torn from its ocean womb

Night came softly to Moonrise, the festival’s laughter fading into silence as the torches guttered out one by one. The square, so alive hours ago, now lay empty, hushed in the silver breath of moonlight. The valley exhaled like something weary but unbroken, holding within it the echoes of songs and vows, the bright ache of remembrance.

One by one, I lit them—for Grace Winters, for Little Silver Moon, for the innocents who had suffered because of my blindness. The lanterns rose slowly into the night sky, their warm glow reflecting on the still water. I watched until they were nothing but distant pinpricks of light, gradually extinguishing as they drifted beyond sight. The darkness that followed was complete. I stood alone in the silence, hoping that Grace and Little Silver Moon had found peace wherever they were. "Little Silver Moon," I thought silently, the words echoing in the empty chamber of my heart, "remember to hold Grandma Grace's hand."

Luna and Shade returned, lying nearby, their amber eyes reflecting the sunlight, the glade a sanctuary, the warmth a shared triumph. The afternoon stretched on, the sunlight dipping lower, the warmth of the glade a sanctuary for their stolen moment, the Dawn Pack’s love a radiant flame in the forest, their legacy a tale of victory and passion that would echo through the ages.

Agatha's POV Cold. It crept into my bones the moment my eyes fluttered open. I lay on a blanket of snow, my breath visible in soft, icy clouds. All around me was white—the sky pale with endless snowfall, trees frozen and stooped under the weight of frost, the horizon lost in a sea of shimmering cold. "Is this the afterlife?" I whispered, my voice brittle against the stillness. A sharp ache bloomed in my chest. “I should’ve told him… I love him too,” I said, the words catching on the edge of a sob. Tears welled up, freezing before they touched my cheeks. I pressed a hand to my heart, and it felt like shattered glass beneath my skin.

A wave of light erupted from the shrine, tearing through the Hollow Howl like a cleansing flame. Silence fell. Not a victory not yet but a message. The Spiral had answered. And Ophelia was its voice. 5: The Aftermath By dawn, the field lay thick with frost and blood. Fires smoldered at the edges of the Moonspire, and the scent of ash mixed with pine in the cold air. We walked among the fallen, our own and theirs, silently gathering what could be saved and burning what could not. Ophelia stood before the altar, her eyes distant.

Watched Helena sleeping, sketchbook over her chest, her pencil still held loosely in her fingers. The moon outside was waning. Thin as a promise. Pale as bone. I touched the glass and whispered, “Beneath the moon, we bloom. In blood, we endure.” The old family words. They tasted different in the dark. I wasn’t sure I believed them anymore. But I said them anyway.

The battlefield was quiet at last. Ash and silver petals floated in the wind, carrying the faint scent of blood and moonlight. Where once there had been howls and clashes of teeth, only a heavy silence remained. The red glow of the Eclipse Moon began to fade, replaced by a soft silvery glow bathing the world in calm.

The moon made room for morning without grievance. The afterglow held—less spectacle, more promise—and the mending, begun in heat, continued in gentleness.

It was just me and the stars—well, and Morris. Then, the stars were falling, their tails drawing trails on the veil of night. They dove into the water, continuing to glow under, and creating tiny waves upon their wakes. Only then I realized that I wasn't flying anymore. I stood at the surface of the sea, clothed in a black robe.