Letters To The Lost Novels & Stories

This time he used the other name he knew who had a bad temper. “--lost.” He heard her speak and he didn’t hear any other sound after that. He went to the couch and looked at the door, waiting for them to come out. Inside the room, Kyla was sitting on the floor, she saw blood on her feet and it reminded her of awful things she had run away when they were little. “I’m lost.” she quietly said before she was pulled back to blackness.

That’s how controlling they are to me. We went to my father’s office, he spends most of his time in his study room doing paperwork. I knocked at the door three times to let my presence be noticed. “Come in” I heard father’s voice. I slowly opened the door and went inside. Aeolous followed behind me and closed the door when he got in. “Good day Sir! I am here for Eleina”. Father who was busy doing something on his table, looked front to see us. “Oh! Its you two. Are you here to bid farewell, my daughter?” he asked. I never go here unless it’s important so it’s not a surprise that he knew why I was here. “Yes father. Aeolous and I are on our way to the capital. Where’s mother?” I asked, I sti

Everything looked the same—dusty trophies from high school, faded posters, the worn-out desk where she’d written college essays and breakup letters she never sent. She sat on the edge of her bed and opened the top drawer. Inside was a bundle of old letters. Letters from Adrian. Her hands trembled as she pulled one out. Elena, I don’t know where you are. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. But I miss you. Not just the version of you I used to kiss behind the lighthouse. I miss the way you made me believe in forever. I don’t believe in it anymore. Not without you.

“Kaelen will find me.” The reflection’s gaze softened. “If you linger, he will forget you.” The words hit harder than a physical blow. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t.” “He must,” the reflection said gently. “That is how the living survive the lost.” A tremor rippled through the realm, distorting the silver sky. Thunder echoed faintly, but not from above — from beyond. A sound that did not belong here. It was faint but familiar — the rhythm of a heartbeat that matched her own.

“In two hours, we have to meet Zombie in the park and tell him what happened. You need to be there, as the new Alpha of The Stars.” The mention of my apperantly new title sends a fresh wave of anguish crashing over me, and I can’t hold back the tears that threaten to spill. “Thorn?” I sob, the weight of my grief nearly suffocating me. “How is it possible to lose everything in such a short time?”

I pulled closer, and there was a letter written boldly on it. “It's Kayla by now I'm gone, I understand, heartfelt letters weren't my thing but don't look for me Reynold, I'm gone for a peaceful life, you should keep your family happy, and please keep Adora safe, but know where you go, my heart goes with you…” I read through the letter with shaky hands and my heart thudded against my chest. the feeling, that weakened and irritation that I felt… the pain and fear that washed all through me on point, was that how it really was,.

It was here, in this forgotten place, that the whispers of the past were waiting to be heard. As we began to sift through the artifacts, we stumbled upon a box filled with letters. The words written on the yellowed pages spoke of love, loss, and betrayal. They were the echoes of a time long gone, a testament to the emotions that had once consumed the hearts of those who came before us. We sat down on the dusty floor, our eyes glued to the words before us. The conversations written in those letters painted a vivid picture of a complex web of relationships, intertwining the lives of the people we thought we knew.

Bingo. I knelt beside it, fingers skimming the edges. The lock was sturdy, but I had picked enough locks as a child to recognize a weak point. With a quick flick of my wrist, the latch popped open. I held my breath as I lifted the lid. Inside were stacks of letters—dozens of them, bound with ribbons. I picked up the first one and froze. The wax seal was unfamiliar, but the handwriting… It wasn’t just anyone’s. It was Edwin’s.

Aunt Lou opened it, revealing several old letters, their edges yellowed with age. “These were in the same box as the photo albums that Madam Victoria told me to give you the other day, it would seem that she doesn’t remember it anymore because her real memories just came by for a moment,” she explained. “And I thought you might find them... enlightening.” I picked up one of the letters, my heart pounding as I read the familiar handwriting. It was Justin’s. The first letter was dated nearly a decade ago. Justin had written to Grandma Victoria, apologizing for his mistakes and expressing regret for the pain he’d caused. But what struck me most was a cryptic line near the end:

None of those versions had included a hallway and an open door and two men talking, one of them saying simply: I know. Reality had a quality imagination never quite achieved. It was quieter. More incremental. It arrived not in a single moment but in a long accumulation of small ones, each individually insufficient and collectively overwhelming. I thought about the letter in my bedside drawer. The page and a half of eighteen-year-old handwriting that had waited seven years to be read. I think it just waits. It had. They both had. That was what I kept returning to: not the time lost, which was real, but the stubborn refusal of certain things to become nothing simply because they had been set a