Red String, Black Thread

Chapter 40: When the Thread Lies Back

The next morning, the sky was bruised, heavy with a storm it hadn't decided whether to release. Vesper sat curled up on her bed, blankly flipping through the drawings she'd made in the night. They didn't make sense anymore. Or maybe they made too much sense and her mind refused to accept it.

A knock broke the heavy quiet.

No voice this time. Just the soft scrape of something sliding under her door.

She hesitated-then got up, every step weighted like her body was struggling against something invisible.

There, lying pale against the floorboards, was an envelope. No name. No stamp. Just her.

And when she turned it over, her heart stuttered.

Because the handwriting was hers.

Exactly hers.

But she hadn't written it.

Vesper (whispering, more to herself): "No... no, this isn't real..."

Her hands shook as she tore the letter open.

The paper inside was thick, almost ancient. It smelled faintly of burnt roses and ash. As she unfolded it, her chest tightened painfully.

She read.

"You loved him before the world began to rot."
"You loved him even when he forgot you."
"You loved him when he broke you."
"You loved him even when you cursed him, thinking it would save him."

The words blurred, but not from tears. From memories clawing their way up inside her.

There was more.

"You thought you could live without him."
"You couldn't."
"You died trying."

At the bottom of the page, in darker ink, like it was added later:

"If you're reading this, it means you tried to run again. Please don't. He loved us. He still does."

Vesper stumbled back, clutching the letter like it might turn to dust.

Her mouth was dry, her pulse ragged.

Vesper (choking out a sound, almost a sob): "What is this...? Why would I... why would I write this?"

The air shifted behind her. She spun around-

And found Auren standing there.

He looked worse than she'd ever seen him. His eyes were hollowed out, black thread shimmering faintly around his neck like a noose he had almost accepted. His hands were empty. His voice wasn't.

Auren (quiet, wrecked): "You did write them."

Vesper backed away.

Vesper (hoarse): "How do you know?"

Auren (stepping closer, carefully, like she was something brittle): "Because... I kept them. Every time you left, every life... you left one for me."

Vesper's legs gave out, and she sank to the floor.

Her mind spun-images flashing by too fast to catch: sunsets she hadn't lived, kisses she hadn't given, graves she hadn't mourned at.

But the emotions-they were hers.

Vesper (shaking her head violently): "I don't remember-I don't want to remember-"

Auren (kneeling in front of her, his voice raw): "But you do, Vesper. Somewhere inside, you do. That's why you found me again. That's why you're hurting now."

Her fists clenched the letter so tightly it crumpled. Her breath hitched.

And still, a voice-her own voice-whispered from the back of her mind.

"Please don't run. He loved us. He still does."

Vesper buried her face in her hands.

The thread between them pulsed.

Not just black.

But black laced with something red. Faint. Fighting.

Auren (soft, desperate): "Vesper... please don't leave me again."

She lifted her head. Her eyes met his.

And for the first time, she saw not just the boy.

She saw the boy she had cursed, the man she had mourned, the soul she kept finding and losing across lifetimes.

And she realized:

She wasn't just tied to him.

She had built the thread herself.

To bind them. To save them. To ruin them.

All of it.

The storm outside finally broke.

Rain hammered against the windows, as if the sky itself was weeping for them.

Vesper reached out, her fingers brushing against the thread at his throat.

It shivered.

So did he.

Vesper (whispering, trembling): "I'm sorry I ever made you love me."

Auren (smiling, broken): "I'm not."

Outside, thunder rumbled.

Inside, two cursed souls clung to each other in the ruins they'd built across lifetimes.

But the worst truths hadn't even been uncovered yet.

Not even close.

Because if the thread was changing color...

It meant the past wasn't done with them.

Not yet.

TO BE CONTINUED.