L Handwriting Death Note Novels & Stories

Rick adds, “It makes no sense. It can’t be from her! That’s impossible!” “The handwriting was Jolene’s, Rick!” I exclaimed loudly which silenced him. “It was her fucking sign on that note! The same one in her paintings!” His brows creasing, “But that’s not possible.” “That’s what I thought too.” “It could be someone else with the same handwriting as her.” “Rick, if it was someone else then why is her handwriting so much alike to Jolene’s? It is so similar.” Rick groans, “It cannot be her. She died that night.”

Nothing about it felt alive anymore. My fingers slid under the flap. For a moment, I couldn’t bring myself to pull the letter out. The handwriting on the front; neat, familiar, already told me everything I needed to know. My Suicide Note. I swallowed and unfolded the paper. Every line cut deeper than the one before. Hayes wrote about Lenora first. He wrote about how the house felt hollow

For his wolf or for Leia or for me? Then he drank the holy water before speaking, “First of all, I will talk about the former Luna’s diary where she had mentioned most of Aleena’s crimes, and I would like to know a few answers from the forensic doctor.” “Sure, you can proceed.” “Thank you,” Stephen thanked the werewolf king before asking his question to Doctor Randell, “So, Doctor, you just confirmed that the handwriting in the diary belonged to former Luna. Now, can you please tell everyone how old the ink was that was used in the diary?”

“Eli.” Eli looked at the phone. “Yeah.” “Thank you for being there.” “I wasn’t going anywhere,” Eli said simply. The call ended. The room was quiet. Lucien stood in the middle of it with Eli’s hand still at the back of his neck, then he said, quietly, to no one in particular: “She had good handwriting.” Eli looked at him. “My mother,” Lucien said. “Her handwriting was very precise. She wrote everything down carefully.” He looked at the wall.

I held my breath, peering through the narrow crack. Victor was sitting at the small wooden writing desk near the window. He had unbuttoned his coat, and his crisp white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. He was holding a heavy silver ring up to the moonlight, turning it slowly between his fingers. Carved deeply into the heavy silver face of the ring was the unmistakable emblem—a stylized crown of thorns. The Crimson Crest. Beside his elbow lay a thick stack of folded parchment letters—copies of my father’s official military patrol routes that Victor had somehow managed to extract from my father’s private study during dinner. My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp. Panic seized my chest,

Clarice looked at Khloe for a moment, fully aware of the malice in her intentions, yet she quickly tore open the envelope. The handwriting was delicate yet forceful, every stroke elegant and familiar. Clarice's heart raced—she recognized it immediately. This was Niel's handwriting. "Dear Clarice, By the time you read this letter, I will likely no longer be in this world. Do not grieve, and I hope you are well. A thousand thoughts crowded my mind before I began to write, yet when I tried to put them down, I did not know where to start.

said one of the investigators, as cold as if he were talking about damaged goods. “You’re saying it was her?” My voice came out lower than I expected, but sharp like a blade. “She ran. The scene shows clear signs of struggle, broken objects, security cameras disabled. And this note.” He handed me a laminated piece of paper. “L.M.” Written in black ink. The handwriting was off. Forced. Fake. “It’s a setup!” I growled. “You really think she’d leave that kind of trail? That she’d kill her own father and sign the scene?”

Lysan stood there, staring at the rose and the note in his hands. His thumb ran over the words slowly. The handwriting was so familiar in a way that made his chest stir uncomfortably. His eyes moved to the rose next. It was fresh. The stalk was still green, not a trace of withering. His mind went to Roman first, but he quickly dismissed it. This wasn't Roman's style. Every white rose Roman left on the chest of enemies, on the body of his victims, on the doorstep of those he wanted to terrorize was always dead, without any note.

“Let me guess, it involves the body in the trunk.” “You know me better than anyone.” “Whoa.” He pulls the leather traveler’s notebook. “Is this what I think it is?” I take it from him and open the pages. There are a lot of names and numbers in it. When I say numbers, I’m talking about figures. “This is not this asshole’s penmanship.” He grabs a lot of papers and takes them with him. “Time to wrap this up.” When I look at dead Luka, his cigar lights up the whiskey on the desk. By the time I get to the door, the fire is already spreading.

I looked down at the note, my hands trembling as I read the words written in familiar handwriting: “Kill her before he comes back.” The handwriting was identical to the threatening notes I’d received before. The same person who’d been watching me, who’d sent me those warnings, had also ordered my assassination. “This is the same handwriting,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “From the notes I got before.” Aiden’s expression darkened. “You got threatening notes? When? Why didn’t you tell anyone?” “I thought I was being paranoid,” I admitted. “I didn’t have proof, and with everything else happening with the elders…”