Mourning Never Comes Novels & Stories

The sound of children playing in the courtyard drifted through the open doors, thin and bright against the weight in the room. Cowrie exhaled slowly. “I thought I was past this,” she said, her voice low. “I thought I could face loss like it was part of life. But I still wake up reaching for it.” Micah moved then. He came around the table and placed his hands on her shoulders. He didn’t speak, only pressed his forehead to hers. The way she leaned into him said everything. Solenne’s eyes filled, but her smile held. “You’re allowed to mourn,” she said gently. “That’s the part we never tell each other enough.”

The darkness was starting to fall, casting a gloomy shadow over the cemetery, but Mino didn't even notice. He was lost in his own world of grief, a world where time stood still and all that mattered was the pain and the sorrow. He was trapped in a never-ending cycle of grief, and he didn't know how to escape. As the night wore on, the cemetery grew quiet and still, the only sound the distant rumble of thunder. Mino was still sitting there, crying and mourning the loss of Lucas, the rain-soaked grass beneath him a reminder of the pain and the sorrow that had consumed him.

There is no right way to grieve, no way to tell others how to grieve. All we can do is be there for those who are mourning because often there is little else one can do. The battle of Azarakh’s Doom, as it’s now been dubbed, cost us many; mates, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters. We lost loved ones, those who had barely seen life, and others who had lived theirs fulfillingly, but it didn’t mean we wouldn’t mourn any of them. Each one weighed on my heart, a scar that will never heal, for they were killed under my lead.

, I mumbled. There will never be a good moment.

My fists curled into the edge of the desk. “Elona...your mother didn’t even know she was pregnant with you,” I whispered. “Not until it was too late. She went through it all by herself...grieving you. I should’ve been there, but I wasn't," a sob tore from my throat, and I sank lower into the chair. “How can I grieve you when I never got to meet you?” I whispered, barely able to speak through the tightness in my chest. “How can I mourn someone who never had a name, never had a heartbeat I got to hear, never had a future to dream about?”

everything is reminding me that the tomorrow I thought I'd have never came and will never do. The memories of our time together come flooding back. The laughter, the joy, and everything we shared seems like distant echoes in a place where happiness cannot penetrate. I find myself asking why him, why now, why me? But there are no answers to these questions, no solace in the silence of the graveyard. And the emptiness in my chest feels like a gaping hole that can never be filled.

Richard I stood in the midst of death and grief, surrounded by the heavy silence that only tragedy can bring. Everywhere my eyes land, there is the corpse of my people, with their loved ones grieving for their loss. Their anguished cries pierced the air, echoing the magnitude of the devastation that had befallen us. Each life lost represented a shattered dream, a void that could never be filled.

The mourning feast had begun—but no one was truly feasting. Not even me. It was the mourning feast for Luna Marie. I stood near the far end of the hall, stiff in the dark green ceremonial dress that clung to me like a second skin. The dress that cost Luna Marie’s life. My hands trembled against the folds of the fabric. My heart pounded in my chest, a slow, thunderous ache that grew with each tick of silence. I didn’t know what was worse—the silence of those who once smiled at me, or the eyes of those who never did. Both weighed the same: full of unspoken accusation.

Never in a million years. I have always been weak. If I continue to stay weak I am going to lose everything all over again. I have to become strong to save myself and to protect my love. I know I have gone through a lot of pain but staying weak won't help me a bit. Balance, I think this describes the world the best. For every death there is a birth and for every pain there is happiness. This is so hard for me. Everything has always been hard for me right from birth. I wish I would have been taught as a kid that every time I fall in love I will be wounded.

But I never really left. Death is the perfect alibi. When you’re declared gone, you can finally watch the living without interference, without suspicion. You see who mourns, who forgets, who dares to move on. And I watched them. Every second. Every move. Like a shadow they couldn’t shake off.