This letter—this moment—carried weight she wasn’t yet ready to release, but she pressed on, determined to put the words down.
To those I've lost,
I don't know if this will ever reach you, wherever you are now, but I have to say these things. It's been clawing at me, a weight I can’t shake. I owe you all more than I could ever repay, but maybe writing this is the closest I’ll get to settling that debt.
Mariah, you saved me when no one else would. I don't know if you ever realized what you did for me that night you pulled me out of that gutter and named me Luna. You gave me a second chance, not just at surviving, but at living. You made me feel like I belonged, that I could be something more than just another lost girl in the wasteland. I never got to thank you. Not properly. I wish I had the chance to tell you how much you meant to me—how much you still mean. I was scared back then. Scared to admit how much I needed you, how much you shaped who I became. I hope you knew, even without the words.
Brick, I miss you, old man. You were the rock I could lean on, even when I didn’t realize I needed one. You taught me how to fight, sure, but more than that—you taught me to stand up, no matter how many times I got knocked down. I’ll never forget those arm-wrestling matches, even when you broke my damn thumb. You laughed it off, and so did I. I miss that. I miss the way you could make the darkest days seem just a little brighter with one of your stupid jokes. I never told you how much I looked up to you. You were like the father I never had. I wish I could sit with you one more time, just to hear you say “keep trying” again.
To my sisters in the Boneyard, I don’t know if any of you made it out, but if you didn’t… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough, fast enough, to save you when it all came crashing down. You were my family. We were all broken in our own ways, but we had each other. That should have been enough, but it wasn’t. I failed you, and that guilt hasn’t left me since the day Pittsburgh Prime went up in flames. I wonder if I could’ve done more, if I could’ve changed something—anything—to save you. Maybe if I had been better, stronger, you’d still be here.
I think about you all more than I care to admit. I wonder if you’re out there somewhere, in some other version of reality, still fighting, still laughing, still living. I hope you are. I hope there's a place where we can all be together again, even if just for a moment. I’d give anything to have one last chance to hug you, to tell you how much I loved you all.
But more than anything, I just want you to know that I haven’t forgotten you. I carry you with me, every day. In the scars, in the crooked thumb, in the necklace, in every damn thing I do. I’m still fighting, because that’s what you taught me. You made me who I am, and I’ll never stop being grateful for that.
Wherever you are, I hope you’re at peace. And maybe, if there’s any justice left in the universe, we’ll find each other again someday. Until then, I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep fighting.
Luna
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
It was supposed to be simple. Serenity had told her about the rite of mourning, a way to release the pain and guilt she'd been carrying for so long. All she had to do was burn the letter, let the smoke carry her words, her memories, and her grief into the air—into something larger than herself. But somehow, now that the moment had come, it wasn’t so simple. In her hands, she held the now folded letter—carefully creased, its edges worn from the nervous fiddling of her fingers. She stared at it for a long moment, her jaw tight, her breath shallow.
With a frown, Eva leaned forward, holding the letter over the flame. Her hand hovered just above the candle, waiting for the edges to catch. But the paper refused to light. The flame flickered wildly as if sensing her frustration, but still, the letter remained untouched by fire.
She pressed the paper closer, her brow furrowing, her fingers tightening around the edges. But still... nothing. Eva’s lips curled into a tight line, her teeth grinding against each other as frustration bubbled to the surface. She was trying to let go. Trying to release it all. Why wouldn’t it work?
Across the table, Serenity watched in silence, her face soft, eyes gentle as they followed Eva's movements. She could see the tension in Eva's posture, the way her shoulders hunched, the way her knuckles whitened as she clutched the letter tighter.
"You're trying too hard to hold on," Serenity said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper but carrying the weight of understanding.
Eva glanced up at her, frustration flashing in her greenish-yellow eyes. "What do you mean? I’m trying to let go," she muttered, holding the letter a little closer to the flame, her patience fraying.
Serenity shook her head, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. She stood from where she’d been sitting on the edge of the room and moved to stand beside Eva. Placing a gentle hand on Eva’s shoulder, she leaned down, her voice soft but firm. "Not physically. You're holding on to it here." She tapped her fingers lightly against Eva's temple. "And here." She moved her hand to Eva’s chest, resting it just over her heart. "You’re still gripping it too tightly—mentally, emotionally. You’re trying to force yourself to let go. That’s not how it works."
Eva stared at the letter, her jaw clenching, her throat tightening with unspoken words. She wanted this to be over. She wanted the guilt and pain to burn away with the paper. Why couldn’t she do it?
"Breathe," Serenity said, her voice steady, her hand warm on Eva’s shoulder. "Let go, not with your hands, but with your soul." She gave a soft squeeze, her touch grounding Eva.
Eva swallowed hard, her fingers still gripping the edges of the letter, though less tightly now. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, trying to feel the weight lift, trying to allow herself to let go of the pain she’d been carrying for so long.
The memories flooded her—Mariah, Brick, her sisters in the Boneyard. All the things she never said, the guilt, the loss, the regret. She held onto them so tightly, afraid that letting go meant losing them all over again.
"They’re not going anywhere," Serenity said softly, as if reading her thoughts. "They’re with you, always. Letting go of the guilt doesn’t mean letting go of them."
Eva opened her eyes, her breath steadying. She loosened her grip on the letter, allowing it to rest gently between her fingers. Slowly, she held it over the flame again, this time without the tension, without the force. The flame flickered once, twice, and then, with a soft crackle, the edge of the paper caught fire.
She watched as the flame licked at the letter, curling the edges, turning it to ash. The smoke rose, twisting in the air above her, carrying with it the words she had written, the pain she had poured into every line.
As the letter burned, Eva felt a strange lightness in her chest—a release, a softening of the tightness she had carried for so long. The memories were still there, the love she had for Mariah, Brick, and her sisters. But the guilt... it began to lift, just a little.
Serenity stood beside her, watching the last of the letter turn to ash. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Her presence was enough, her warmth a quiet reminder that Eva wasn’t alone in this. That she didn’t have to carry it all by herself anymore.
Eva leaned back in her chair, her eyes still on the smoldering remains of the letter. The room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the candle.
"Thank you," Eva whispered, her voice barely audible. She wasn’t sure if she was thanking Serenity or the ones she had lost. Maybe both.
Serenity smiled gently, her hand resting on Eva’s shoulder for just a moment longer before she stepped back. "Anytime," she said softly, her voice like a soft breeze through the quiet room.
Eva let out a long breath, the weight in her chest lighter than it had been in years.
Maybe, just maybe, she could finally start to let go.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The soft candlelight and warmth of Serenity’s cottage fades into the cold, industrial haze of Pittsburgh Prime. The air was thick, a swirling mix of smog and the sharp scent of oil hanging in the sky like a heavy curtain. It pressed down on everything—the rusted ruins of the city, the crumbling buildings, and the vast expanse of the Boneyard below.
Over the Boneyard, where the skeletons of dead trains stretched like broken bones, a flicker of flame sparked in the heavy air. It crackled and danced for a moment before a folded letter materialized, floating slowly downward, carried by the thick, stagnant breeze. It twisted and turned lazily as it descended, until it finally settled on the ground, the paper soft against the hard dirt.
In the distance, a figure moved—a slightly younger, less weathered version of Eva, her shoulders not yet burdened with the weight of so many years of loss and survival. She moved through the Boneyard with purpose, her steps quiet but steady. The trains and twisted metal cast long shadows in the fading light of the day, the distant hum of industry a constant, oppressive backdrop.
Her eyes caught the flutter of paper on the ground. She paused, frowning slightly, her curiosity piqued. Kneeling down, she reached for the letter, her fingers brushing against its edges as she picked it up. The paper was rough and familiar, and as she unfolded it, her breath caught in her throat. She stared at the handwriting. Her handwriting.
The curves of the letters, the small idiosyncrasies of her penmanship—it was undeniably hers. And yet, she hadn’t written this letter. Not yet. Her mind stumbled over the impossibility of it, but the emotions swelling inside her made it difficult to think straight. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the words on the page. She tried to blink them away, but they clung stubbornly, a reflection of the overwhelming surge of emotions she wasn’t ready for.
She skimmed the letter’s contents, recognizing the pain, the guilt, the love—all things she felt for her friends but had never put into words. It was like reading a confession she had never allowed herself to make.
Eva’s breath hitched, her fingers trembling as she clutched the paper. She didn’t understand how, or why, but this letter—these words—they were meant for her. Her heart pounded as she felt the weight of it all press down on her, a weight she hadn’t even realized she was carrying.
With a shaking hand, she carefully folded the letter, pressing the creases down with her thumb, and tucked it into the lip of her bra, right near her heart. Her mind raced, but one thing became clear to her as the letter rested close: they needed to know. Mariah, her sisters, Brick—they needed to know what she hadn’t yet found the strength to say for fear of being perceived as weak.
Without another word, Eva turned, her boots crunching over the dirt as she made her way toward the center of the Boneyard. The faint glow of firelight from the heart of their makeshift camp flickered in the distance, casting long shadows over the rusted remains of the trains. Her sisters would be there, probably laughing, planning, talking about their next move. Brick would be watching over them, arms crossed, his ever-present, silent strength comforting them without a word.
They deserved to know how much they meant to her. Mariah, who had saved her in more ways than one. Brick, who had been the father figure she never knew she needed. And her sisters—those she had fought beside, bled beside, lived beside in the ruins of a world that had given them nothing but pain. They deserved to know that they were her world. That without them, she would have been nothing.
The letter resting against her heart pulsed with the weight of those unsaid words, and as she walked, Eva knew that this was her chance—her chance to let them in, to finally say everything she had held back.
Her steps quickened as she neared the camp, the letter pressing against her chest like a promise.
Soon, they would know.
Soon, she would tell them what had been left unsaid for too long.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
In the stillness of Rhy'Din’s night, the moonlight filtered through the small window of the cottage, casting a soft glow over the bed where Eva lay, seemingly deep in sleep. Her arm was wrapped gently around Serenity’s waist, their bodies entwined in the peaceful quiet of the night. Serenity’s breathing was steady and calm, her presence grounding, as always. The night was calm, the air outside still and cool, the world around them silent.
But beneath the tranquility of sleep, something shifted within Eva. A single tear slipped from her closed eye, trailing slowly down her cheek before disappearing into the pillow. For a long time, her chest had felt heavy—burdened by guilt, by the memories of Pittsburgh Prime, by the loss of those she loved. But now, in this moment, something was different. That weight, the one she had carried for so long, felt lighter, as if some invisible force had lifted it from her shoulders.
And then, a smile touched her lips—a soft, genuine smile that was so different from any she’d worn in recent memory. It wasn’t the coy, teasing grin she sometimes gave to Serenity in their private moments, nor was it the carefully crafted, polite smile she offered to passing strangers on the streets of Rhy'Din. No, this smile was something else, something real.
It was a smile of peace.
A smile of happiness.
Deep in her sleep, Eva’s mind wandered, perhaps to that version of herself in the Boneyard, still holding that letter close. Perhaps it was the feeling of finally releasing that burden, of letting go of the things she hadn’t been able to say until now. Maybe it was the memory of Mariah’s face, of Brick’s strength, of her sisters’ laughter—all alive in some way, within her heart, even after everything they had endured.
In this quiet moment, in this strange world so far from the hell she had once known, Eva felt... free.
Her grip around Serenity tightened just slightly, instinctively pulling her closer as if to ground herself further in the present, in the life they were building together. The soft warmth of Serenity's body, the steady rise and fall of her breath, was a comfort that Eva had once thought impossible. Yet here she was, in a place that felt like home, with someone who had given her a sense of peace she hadn’t realized she could find.
The tear that had fallen was a release—a final piece of the past, of the pain and loss, slipping away. The smile that had formed on her lips was a sign of what was to come—a future where she could feel joy again, where the memories of those she lost could live within her, not as a burden, but as a part of who she was.
The night stretched on, the moon rising higher in the sky as the stars twinkled faintly above the cottage. Inside, all was calm, all was quiet. And Eva, for the first time ever, slept with peace in her heart, a genuine smile on her lips, and a lightness in her soul that she had never thought possible.
Tomorrow would come, with all its challenges and uncertainties.
But tonight, in the warmth of Serenity’s embrace, Eva was happy.
Truly, deeply happy.
And that was enough.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Running through my head, all the things I never said,
I kept it locked away, always fighting instead.
The weight of every glance, every moment gone,
I wish I’d spoken up before it all went wrong.
I fought to survive, thought that was enough,
But silence left me shattered when times got tough.
Now the memories linger, words left behind,
I couldn’t say them then, now they’re stuck in my mind.
Mariah, you gave me strength, a reason to believe,
But I never told you how much you meant to me.
You were the heart that kept us going through the night,
Now it’s too late, and I can’t make it right.
Brick, you stood beside me, solid like a wall,
But I never let you know you caught me when I’d fall.
I should’ve told you what you meant, but it stayed inside,
Now I carry that regret, no matter how I try.
To my sisters in the dark, we fought side by side,
I should’ve told you then, but the words always died.
Through the battles, through the pain, we were all we had,
Now the silence breaks my heart, and I miss you so bad.
All the things I never said, all those things I never said,
Running through my head, running through my head.
Should’ve spoken up instead, now it’s all unsaid,
All the things I never said.
But you’ll stay with me, wherever I go,
All the things I couldn’t say, now you’ll know.
In my heart, you’ll remain, though the words went unsaid,
All the things I never said, forever in my head.