Chapter 1: You were supposed to die
It rained the night before Anara Kaelith turned seventeen.
Not a thunderstorm. Not the cinematic sort that drowns out thought. Just quiet, persistent rain – tapping against the windows of her flat like someone too polite to knock harder. The kind that lingers, even after it’s gone.
By morning, the sky had cleared, but the air felt weighed down, thick with the memory of something that hadn’t yet happened.
Birthdays weren’t a big deal in her household. Her parents had left early for work, as they always did. No candles, no awkward hugs. Not even a text massage. That was fine. It made pretending easier that it was just another Thursday. Nothing to remember, nothing to mourn.
She zipped up her bag, tied her hair into a loose braid and opened the door.
And there it was.
A single white envelope. No stamp. No address. Just her name in red ink : Anara Kaelith.
She froze.
The corridor was empty. To her left, silence. To her right, only the familiar flicker of the broken ceiling light above the stairwell.
No footsteps, no laughter, no voice.
She stared at the envelope for several seconds before kneeling down to pick it up. The paper was slightly damp – not from rain, but as if someone had held it too tightly for too long.
She stepped back inside and locked the door behind her.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it.
Just one sentence, no greeting, no sender.
“You were supposed to die, not me.”
Anara blinked. Once. Twice.
The words didn’t change.
They didn’t make sense. Or maybe they did.
Because the hand writing – sharp, slanted, neat in its own way – was unmistakable.
Liora’s.
Anara stared at it like it might vanish. Her heart was no longer just pounding – it was hammering, clawing at her chest like it wanted to escape.
Liora was dead.
Buried six days ago in a pale blue coffin with lilies laid over hands. Anara had watched it. She had stood at the back, silent, unmoving, while people cried around her.
Liora's handwriting was here. On her birthday. On her doorstep.
Her legs gave out first. She sat on the floor, the letter resting in her palm like it might explode.
Three people knew today was her birthday.
And one of them had died on a rooftop.
❝Thank you for starting this story! 💫 I hope you enjoy the journey ahead. Feel free to follow along for the upcoming chapters—I’d love to know your thoughts!❞
