Jerusalem Delivered Poem

When my body was being dismembered, my fiance was helping my cousin choose her wedding dress. When he received my distress call, he said with disgust, "I hope you never come back! You can die with the bastard in your womb! Don't ever call me again. The mentioning of your name makes me sick!" After that, he found a body part of me in a water tank on the rooftop of a hotel. He thought it was a prank, so he actually ordered white lilies and candles to be delivered to my doorstep. Only when he found my head buried in the grass under his feet on the day of our wedding did he realize that it wasn't a prank.

"Miss Hudson, we have prepared a corpse identical to you, just as you requested. It will be delivered to your wedding with Mr. Warhol in ten days." Hearing the voice on the other end of the line, Violet Hudson felt a small knot of tension unwind inside her. "Alright. Thank you." "You're welcome. This is our job. Please rest assured—no one will ever suspect a thing." With that guarantee, she exhaled, the weight on her chest easing just a little. After confirming the final details once more, she ended the call and pushed open the door to the private room. The noise inside had been a constant hum, a mix of voices overlapping, but the moment she stepped in, silence fell like a curtain.

I fought my sister, Anna, for two lifetimes to become the Donna. In my first life, I got what I wanted. I became Lorenzo's woman. People said he loved me as if I were the air in his lungs. When he learned that I loved to dance, he bought an entire ballet company to keep me onstage. Then he broke my legs. He confined me to a wheelchair and displayed me like an ornament. One day, he brushed his fingers across my face and finally told me the truth. "I've seen enough dancing," he said. "And the one I truly love was never you." I died in that room, swallowed by despair. In my second life, I stepped aside and gave the Donna's seat to Anna. "You go," I told her. "The one Lorenzo really loves is you." I believed that choice would save us. I believed Anna would have the happy ending I never did. Five years later, they sent her back. Her legs were intact this time, but she couldn’t move them either. Lorenzo no longer treated her as a person. He had turned her into a ballerina statue, encased in plaster and posed at what he called her most beautiful moment, frozen in place. His men delivered the message without a trace of feeling. "He got tired of watching the younger sister dance," they said. "So he preserved her at her most beautiful." When I opened my eyes again, I found myself in my third life. Once more, the Don's men delivered a ballet invitation. Anna and I stared at it. The same question burned in both of us. If neither of us was the one he loved, then who was Lorenzo really watching?

"You owe me, Isabel. I married you just for revenge." Emerson's cold voice cut through me. The man I loved betrayed me in the most ruthless way imaginable. In his heart, I was never more than a shadow of his first love, Lilith—the woman who destroyed my life. After the heartbreak of losing my baby, the diagnosis of a malignant tumor was another cruel blow. But Emerson wasn't done. He delivered one final, devastating strike: my father, now in a vegetative state, might have committed an unforgivable crime. The weight of it all nearly crushed my will to live. Yet when I finally walked away, Emerson became desperate to win me back. But why? Wasn’t this exactly what he wanted all along?

After my grandmother passed away, I returned from my countryside home to Oberis City, ready to tidy things up and prepare for my wedding. But no sooner had I arrived at the wedding planning company, ready to book an extravagant, luxurious wedding, than the staff there delivered a piece of news that struck me like a thunderbolt. The groom—my groom—had already gotten married. Three months ago, Cain Bassett, the eldest son of the wealthiest family's conglomerate, tied the knot with his childhood sweetheart, the daughter of the mayor of Lith City—Mary Schindler. Now here I stood, frowning in front of the grand gates of Cain's villa. But the thing is, I am Mary Schindler, the daughter of the mayor of Lith City.

After I was brought back from the kidnapping, my mafia boss husband, Jonathan Caruso, arranges for me to live in a new villa. "You've suffered so much over the years, Nat…" Jonathan caresses the scar on my face, sympathy and pain evident on his face. As I listen to his words, I just smirk in return. Sure, he's been keeping up a loving and devoted facade. Unfortunately for him, I've always known that he doesn't want me to survive at all. After all, he's the one who has delivered me into the dark and damp water prison three years ago as a wedding gift for Governor Frederick Romano in order to marry his daughter, Kelsey Romano.

Scarlett was supposed to walk down the aisle in white silk, glowing with love and a secret growing inside her. Instead, she walked out of a hospital with shaking hands, a shattered heartbeat, and a womb that would never feel the flutter she had been so excited to announce. Her fairytale didn’t just crack. It detonated. On the same day she should have become a wife, she became a woman drowning in betrayal—betrayal delivered by the very man who had once fixed her broken-down car and promised her a forever. While the world demanded answers from Daniel Cross, the perfect fiancé on camera, Scarlett hid in a borrowed guest room, wearing a stranger’s dress and a grief no one could soothe. But heartbreak has a way of sharpening bones.

After my sister died, I ran to the human world to chase my own dreams. I was determined to live out my days as a lone wolf. Then I met him: Alpha Blake, in the city on pack business. He was gentle and strong. He hated territory wars, just like me. All he wanted was a peaceful life for his pack. We weren't fated mates, but the pull between us was undeniable. He promised me I would be his one and only Luna. Then came the Moon Festival. He invited me to his pack. He wanted to perform the bonding ceremony, he said. A declaration of our love to the entire werewolf world. I thought I had finally found my salvation, the one who could heal my broken heart. I was so happy to go home with him. I never expected him to drug me that night with a cup of poisoned wine. Only then did I learn the truth. He was selling me to the Alpha King, Roric, to pay off his pack's debt. He'd approached me in the first place because I looked just like Roric's dead mate. He tied me up and delivered me to Roric’s estate, a sick smile twisting his face. "Consider it an honor. One night as the Alpha King's plaything, and our pack's debt is cleared. Worth three years of pretending, wasn't it?" The silver poison paralyzed me, but I couldn't help but laugh. He had no idea. Roric's dead mate? That was my sister. And Roric? He was the man who grew up with me, practically my own brother. He'd personally delivered the lost princess of the Silver Peak Pack right to her own doorstep.

Betrayed. Beaten. Bought. Allison thought she found freedom in her boyfriend, Elliot, who promised to help her escape from her abusive father and grandmother, but instead, he delivered her straight to a black market auction. Now, she was left bleeding on the stage, grieving the brutal loss of her unborn child. She was seconds from death when a voice echoed through the hall: “I’LL BUY HER.” The buyer is Lazar, a Lycan Alpha who paid a fortune not for a slave, but for his mate. In order to avenge the injustice and cruelty that has been done to Allison, he delivers savage justice to her abusers and offers her absolute protection in his Pack. Allison's fight just began because now, she is caught between the Alpha’s possessive love and the hatred of a Pack that wants her dead.

In the coastal quiet of Baler, a studio is born—not of architecture, but of intention.* Founded by Yam, a poet whose words cradle pain gently, and Franc, an artist who paints tenderness into walls, the studio becomes a refuge for those learning to stay—with grief, love, longing, and themselves. As visitors arrive, they leave behind more than footprints: a sigh recorded in bamboo, a poem tucked into the “Found Letters” shelf, a mural painted in crooked lines. Through zines, tea, silence, and sketchbooks, the studio teaches softness as revolution. Ren creates the *Window of Soft Returns*, an installation of anonymous voice recordings—each whisper forming a community of echoes. Drew builds the *Staircase With No Wrong Turns*, inviting people to walk through emotions without shame. Franc offers brushstrokes as brave work, and Yam curates writing circles that map healing in half sentences. Together, they host festivals that feel like hugs, and they begin traveling their archive, letting softness cross oceans. Even those who once left—like Miguel—return, discovering that some doors never truly close. Others, like Tala, capture the studio’s sound and turn it into a podcast of breath and becoming. Over seventy chapters, the studio transforms into something larger than itself: a mural of memory, a sanctuary for second chances, a place where return is sacred and voice is proof of survival. In the final bloom, the studio stands not as a monument—but as a reminder: > *“Staying isn’t easy. > But chosen together, > it becomes home.”*