Masking Grief Novels & Stories

“If this much raw, magical grief gets loose…” “It’ll make Karn’s pack look like cheerful puppies,” I finished. I could feel it now, a keening edge to the mist, a sorrow so vast it could drown worlds. “Contain it how?” I asked. “Your Watcher protocols?” “They’re for voids, not for… sentimental permafrost,” he shot back. “This requires a more delicate touch.” “Oh, so now we’re delicate!” “We need to redefine the seal,” he said, ignoring me, his mind racing. “Not with force. With… acknowledgment. The seal was made by denying grief. To restabilize it, we might have to… feel it.”

Someone had placed a carved panel atop the coffin; a depiction of a fisherman and a gull, one of those small scenes he made in his spare time. I don’t know when my eyes started to blur, but when they did, I remembered Miss Salve’s words. “Don’t let it touch you,” she had said. “Let them have their moment; we’ll do the rest later.” It was a practical kindness: initial grief is public and performative; everything that comes after that comes in silence, lurking beneath the surface. I tapped my chest where the pendant was, a small habit of checking whether my inheritance was still there or not.

The sadness in my words lingered, heavy with the loss I still couldn’t fully accept. “At least I’ll be there to see you in the dress,” Gavin said gently. “And I’m sure your mother will see how lovely you look, no matter where she is.” I nodded, a small smile breaking through my sadness. “Of course you’ll be there to see me in the dress…you’re the groom.” He chuckled, his presence brought a flicker of warmth to my heart, reminding me that even amidst loss, there was still love and hope for the future. Gavin placed his hands on my lap, squeezing it gently in a comforting way. I leaned into him, grateful for his support. “We’ll make this day special, Iris,” he said softly. “We’ll honour your mo

I felt a pang of grief in my chest, a deep sorrow for everything that had been lost along the way. But I didn't hide the tears. I didn't try to hold them back. As we walked down the aisle, I let the tears fall. I let them flow freely, as if giving them space to be part of the moment. I had spent so long pushing down my grief, keeping it hidden behind smiles and strength. But not today. Today, it was okay to mourn the past. It was okay to cry for the people we had lost, for everything we had been through.

I’m alone. Nick reached across the table and took my hand. His thumb stroked over my knuckles, gentle and grounding. "I lost my father three years ago to cancer, so I understand what it's like to watch someone disappear in front of you." This moment of connection was real despite everything else being a lie. We'd both lost people and knew what grief tasted like. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "Me too." The waiter brought the wine. We ordered food I didn't taste because my stomach was too twisted with guilt.

But today, today was different. Today was the anniversary of my parents’ deaths. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to face it for years, pushing it back under the guise of busy work or emotional avoidance. But now, standing in the midst of my freshly furnished apartment, I couldn’t escape the weight of it. The color around me, vibrant and warm, felt almost mocking in its cheerfulness. I dressed in black, a quiet and deliberate gesture to mark the day. The weight of grief settled on me, a familiar companion, as I left my apartment and made my way down to the parking garage.

The air was heavy with the crushing weight of grief and sorrow that hung over the heads and shoulders of all who stood with her heads bowed and their eyes covered with dark shades to hide the tears. Rows of people in black attire enveloped my eyes and each of them mirroring the pain and raw grief of the other person. It had been a week since Hayley had bid this world and we that she left behind, goodbye. A week that felt like a painful eternity. Each waking day felt like the horror had just unfolded. Each day you wake up hoping that you had finally escaped that bad dream.

“Even when she didn’t deserve it.” Minnie didn’t answer. She just sobbed, her grief coming out in waves, pulled from a place so deep it had no name. Cassie held her, both of them clinging to the other like the wreckage they were, mourning not just the loss of a mother, but the pieces of themselves that had been taken along the way.

"Three years since she died because of me." "Hey." Gray sets down his water bottle and turns to face me fully. "I know what grief is. We all know what grief is. I'm not trying to diminish or belittle what you're going through. But—" He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "I don't want that grief to consume you. I don't want you suffering alone in silence like I did for almost all my life. It doesn't help. It doesn't honor her memory. It just... destroys you slowly."

The grief that had threatened to drown her instantly calcified into an indestructible armor. "You and me," she whispered into the quiet cabin of the car, her hand resting over her stomach like a shield. "We are going to be invisible. We are going to be untouchable." She threw the car into drive and merged back onto the highway, disappearing into the dark. She didn't know it then, but she would need every single day of the next five years to turn her grief into a weapon. The road ahead stretched out like a blank blueprint, waiting for her to draw the lines.