What had my life been like with him?
What hadIbeen like with him?
It was so bizarre that I’d spent the last five days suspecting something was wrong with my life, only to discover I’d been right. The unease I’d carried hadn’t been imagined at all. It had been truth.
I gazed at the journal in my hands and stepped away from the door.
I was eager to see what lay inside, yet my nerves were so tangled I could barely breathe.
“Read, Elariya. Just read,” I whispered, squeezing the journal tighter.
I carried it to the bed and sat, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. Across from me, the fire popped softly in the hearth, as if urging me on.
I swallowed past the lump wedged in my throat and opened the journal, taking out the letters first.
I started with the one I’d written to myself. I opened it.
Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes as I recognized my handwriting.
It said:
Elariya,
A lot has happened over the last month. Your life changed in ways you never could have imagined. It all began the night you met Wolfe Nightblade.
You won’t remember him. You won’t remember anything from the past month. And your first instinct will be to doubteverything you’re about to read. I know, because I was you not long ago.
What started as anger — even fear — did not stay that way. What felt like captivity did not remain a cage. Somewhere along the way, you found something you never expected.
And so did he.
Keep an open mind. More importantly, keep an open heart. I know how easily you close yourself off when you’re afraid. Don’t. You don’t have to do that this time.
I won’t say too much here. The journal holds the truth, and it holds my heart.
Read it. Trust the girl who wrote it. She had every reason to run. She did not.
Wolfe Nightblade became the love of your life. The kind worth remembering.
Trust me,
You
I pressed the letter to my chest, my heart swelling. My hands trembled as I lowered it and read the words again. And again.
‘Wolfe Nightblade became the love of your life. The kind worth remembering.’The words wouldn't leave me. It felt like the version of myself who’d written the letter knew exactly what to say to open my mind.
When I looked at the journal, I suddenly needed to know how the Fae prince had stolen my heart.
I flipped the journal open. On the first few pages, I’d jotted down a series of events in chronological date order. From that I could see, the dates made it undeniable—I had written this journal last month.
It was mine. My words. My voice.
Something that felt likeme.
A few pages in, the entries shifted from dates and events to my own thoughts.
I went still as I reached the first full page.
