Mourning Never Comes Novels & Stories

Despite her ethereal beauty, she remains still and lifeless, a stark reminder of the fragility of existence. A deep sense of sorrow and disbelief grips Kalix as he takes a trembling step closer to the coffin, his heart heavy with grief and fear. With each passing moment, the reality of her absence sinks in deeper, weighing down on him like an anchor dragging him into the depths of despair. "Audrey..." he whispers hoarsely, his voice barely above a murmur, as tears continue to stream down his cheeks unchecked.

It never ends. “We’re not done.” And that was the truth. That morning, I stood alone by the fire. The clan huddled nearby, their breaths white in the cold air. No one laughed. No one celebrated. I didn’t want them to. Because grief doesn’t vanish with victory. It settles in your bones. Quiet. Heavy. Dylan brought me coffee. His hand brushed mine. “You’re thinking about them.” “All of them,” I said. He nodded. “What now?”

The once-proud Rachel now had nothing left to her name. She stumbled home, her eyes red and her emotions on the verge of breaking down. She threw open the doors and cried, “Mom, Dad! Help me!” However, the only response was a stony silence in the living room. Her parents sat on the couch, their expressions dark. The once-extravagant living room now looked desolate. Her father chain-smoked cigarettes, looking scarily gloomy. Her mother looked furious and haggard, as though she had aged decades in a few days.

I manage to whisper after about thirty seconds of silent weeping, and he freezes. He finally looks at me, and regrets cloud his pale blue eyes. I shake my head as his mouth opens. "It's fine. Just go," I whisper, and he nods. He walks out silently, and I close my eyes. Why does it hurt so bad to lose someone I never had?

And all my regrets… Came too late. I’ll never see him again. I’ll never hear his voice. I’ll never feel his touch. I’ll never witness that rare, genuine smile that only he ever showed me. The world felt unbearably silent without him. A cold raindrop kissed my skin—then another. I tilted my head up, eyes locking onto the dark, weeping sky. The rain began to fall, slow and steady, like even the heavens were mourning with me. As if the sky itself could feel the crushing weight in my chest.

“How long have you been here? And what exactly is 'Mourning'?” He took a few steps to a tree trunk that lay on its side. He took a seat before he proceeded to explain. “I have been here for a little over two hundred years. I was born here. My mother was human and my father was… Well, you know. I know about being human,” he continued on gently. “Mourning the loss of someone means that you are filled with sorrow because they died. My horse was given to me when I was still but a lad. We grew up together. I made him immortal so that he could stay with me. But my immortality on him only kept him alive, not young. Finally, I had to release him so that he could rest in peace. I lost a very dear fri

Jake "I don't know how to mourn losing something I didn't even know I had." Her voice is soft, but it hits like a punch straight to my chest. I can still hear it, playing on a loop in my head, like her words got stitched into my bones. And no matter what I do, I can’t escape them.

Tessa’s POV Diane’s dead—my mother, who never loved me, who spat “worthless” and “mistake” at me like they were my names. I don’t know how to mourn her. My chest’s hollow, like I’m supposed to cry, but the tears won’t come. How do you grieve a woman who made you feel like nothing your whole life? Guests are arriving for tomorrow’s burial—neighbors with casseroles, cousins with fake tears, all whispering about Diane like she was some martyr.

“Madam, should I throw this away too?” It was the watch I had given Julian on our first date. He used to treasure it, wore it every day, never letting it leave his wrist. Now, it had long been tossed into a corner, covered in dust. It did not matter anymore. I nodded. Then, I replied to Julian, “Forget it. She’s so high and mighty. I’m not worthy enough to get involved.” Julian clearly heard the maid’s voice. “You’re at home?” “Work hasn’t ended for the day. If you don’t come back and fix this, I’ll mark you as absent and cut your salary.”

The visitor comes on the third morning. Moira is wearing dark clothing in the specific way that people who are observing mourning wear dark clothing, not a formal tradition exactly but the acknowledgment of a tradition, and she comes into the room without knocking because the door is open and sits in the chair across from me with the quality she always has, which is the quality of someone who has been through things and who is not performing having been through things but simply is the person those things produced.