I hadn't planned to return.
Not really.
It was never about the place—it was about what I left behind. What I thought I could forget. What I convinced myself was safer untouched, buried beneath time, letters, and silence.
But some stories never end.
They just wait.
And after all the years, after the wandering and the healing and the quiet ache of days spent alone, I found myself standing at the edge of a forest path that once led to Seledora Academy. The place where I was rewritten. Where I became someone new.
Someone real.
My boots sank slightly into the moss-covered ground, dew clinging to the laces. Wildflowers had grown up along the edges of the old cobblestone. The old banners were long gone, but the archway still stood—worn and faded, ivy curling along its frame like delicate lace.
It was nearly dusk.
The sky painted itself in amber and lilac, and the wind carried a familiar scent—distant roses, warm stone, the subtle shimmer of magic on old wood.
My fingers trembled as I reached out to push the gate open.
It didn't creak.
Of course it didn't. Lillian probably made sure it never would.
I walked through slowly.
Step by step, memory came rushing back.
The garden paths Claire used to skip down, humming tunes she barely remembered. The greenhouse where Lillian once taught me how to coax petals from frostbitten soil. The tower where Camille said nothing and somehow told me everything. The shadowed benches where Diana always watched and waited and knew. The lake where Tessa never spoke—only stayed.
My heart ached.
I didn't know what I expected.
Certainly not them.
And yet—
As I reached the top of the stone hill that overlooked the lake, I saw them.
Five figures.
Five silhouettes cast in sunset light.
They didn't speak.
Not at first.
They stood with their backs to me, facing the water, the wind teasing at their hair and gowns and jackets. I recognized every line of them—every movement, every pause, every rhythm of breath.
Then—
"Sera?" Lillian's voice, soft, like a spell on the wind.
I didn't answer.
She turned.
Claire turned next, eyes wide, mouth already half open in disbelief.
Camille's hands lifted slowly to her lips, as if to hold in everything she couldn't say.
Diana moved last—slow, steady, unreadable.
Only Tessa didn't turn.
Not until I whispered her name.
"…Tessa."
And then she did.
Her eyes locked with mine across the space, and I felt it—the sudden, breathless pull of being seen. As if no time had passed. As if no years had stretched between us.
Just us.
Them.
Me.
I stepped forward, down the hill.
And suddenly I was in their arms.
Lillian reached me first, her hands cupping my face, her touch feather-soft. "I knew you'd come back," she whispered.
Claire crashed into me next, nearly knocking the air from my lungs, tears already spilling down her cheeks. "You absolute jerk," she sobbed. "You could've written more."
"I did write," I murmured.
"Not enough."
Camille pressed her forehead against mine, eyes glistening. "It was always going to be you."
Diana's arms slid around my waist from behind, grounding me, her breath warm against my neck. "Took you long enough."
And Tessa—Tessa simply reached out.
She took my hand.
Lifted it.
Pressed a kiss to the back of it.
Then held it to her chest.
Five lights.
Five truths.
Five pieces of me I had scattered across the years, now returning like stars to their sky.
We didn't speak.
Not for a while.
We just stood in that golden hour, wrapped in each other, as if we could stop time just once.
But when the sun finally dipped behind the trees, they led me back.
To the academy.
To the room I once called mine.
It hadn't changed.
There were still soft linens. My old books. A little pressed flower Camille had once left on my windowsill. Someone had kept it clean.
I sat on the edge of the bed, heart pounding.
And one by one, they entered.
Not as rivals.
Not as separate threads.
But as one.
Lillian knelt first, brushing her hands over my thighs as she leaned forward, her lips finding mine with devastating softness. It wasn't hurried. It wasn't possessive.
It was home.
Claire tugged my jacket off gently, her hands warm against my shoulders, eyes searching mine. "Still smell the same," she whispered. "Still feel like mine."
Camille's fingers skimmed down my neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "You never stopped being beautiful," she murmured. "Even when I hated missing you."
Diana's mouth found the curve of my jaw, slow and reverent. "Say you're staying," she said. "Even if it's a lie. Just for tonight."
And Tessa—
Tessa came last.
She stepped between them all, her red eyes darker than I remembered, more raw. Her fingers trailed along my collarbone as she pulled me gently to lie back.
"I dreamed of this," she said. "Every night."
And then—
It was all sensation.
Lips.
Hands.
Breath.
The fabric fell away—mine, theirs. One by one.
Lillian's hands slid along my ribs as if memorizing each inch. Her mouth worshiped my skin with slow, reverent kisses.
Claire tangled her fingers in mine, her body pressed close, her voice trembling against my throat. "I missed you. I missed you so much."
Camille tasted my tears when they fell. She didn't ask why. She just kissed them away.
Diana whispered words I'll never forget—low, commanding, then broken. "You were always mine first. But I'm glad they got to love you too."
Tessa didn't speak again.
She only held me.
Moved with me.
Became the silence between every heartbeat.
We made love that night—not to prove anything.
Not to compete.
Just to be.
Together.
As one.
Each of them took me gently. Slowly. With everything they had.
And I gave myself in return.
Fully.
Completely.
Finally.
The room was filled with soft gasps, with whispered names, with the rustle of sheets and the creak of old wood. The scent of rose oil and skin. The warmth of a thousand unspoken truths.
When I came undone—when I broke open beneath their mouths, their hands, their breath—I wasn't afraid.
I was whole.
And when we lay there after, tangled and breathless, bodies humming with afterglow, I realized something.
I wasn't leaving again.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever.
Because this wasn't the end.
It never had been.
It was only the next chapter.
And this time—
I'd write it with them.
----
Letters.
Five Letters.
I wrote them the night before I left.
Not when I was ready.
But when I knew I had no choice.
There were no second drafts. No rewrites. Just ink and truth.
I kept them for years, tucked in the inner lining of a worn leather satchel. Carried them through train stations, across mountain towns, beside quiet lakefronts, and under starlit inns where I would dream of five different laughs and wake with my hands empty.
And after everything—after we returned to each other—I finally gave them those letters. Each placed quietly in their palms while they slept in the early blue of morning, the sun just barely cresting the garden walls.
They never spoke of it aloud.
But I know they read them.
Because some truths don't need to be said twice.
To Lillian,
You were my first light.
The one who offered me softness when I only knew how to brace for impact.
You never demanded. You simply waited.
With flowers in your hands and patience in your smile. You gave me kindness not because I earned it—but because you believed I could grow into someone who would.
I think, in another life, I would have spent every morning beside you. Watching petals unfold. Naming stars. Building a quiet world made only of tea, laughter, and the scent of your hair as I tucked myself into your arms.
But I wasn't ready.
And I didn't know how to stay.
Thank you for never holding that against me.
If you still smile when you think of me, then I've done something right.
Love,Sera
To Diana,
You terrified me.
And maybe that's why I needed you most.
You saw through every mask. Every clever line. You made me sharper. Stronger. You held up the mirror and demanded I look—really look—even when it hurt.
But underneath the fire and the cunning and the challenge, there was something else. Something no one else ever got to see.
You loved me fiercely.
Unapologetically.
You always said I was yours. But truthfully, Diana… I was never anything but yours the moment you first called me out.
I just didn't know how to admit it.
Thank you for seeing the real me before I did.
With all my strength,Sera
To Camille,
You were the quiet in my storm.
The soft hush of snowfall. The stillness between thoughts.
I never had to explain myself to you.
You knew when I was lying. When I was crumbling. When I needed silence instead of words.
You never pushed. You simply stayed.
Your love wasn't loud. It was constant.
And in a world that always demanded performance, you gave me permission to rest.
To breathe.
I missed you most on the nights when I couldn't sleep. When the air was too thick and the dreams too loud.
I imagined you beside me. One hand in mine. No questions.
Just presence.
Thank you for loving me without asking me to earn it.
Yours, always,Sera
To Claire,
You made me laugh when I didn't know I could anymore.
You barged into my world like a storm of color and mischief, all wild grins and chaotic loyalty. You dragged me into life, into messes, into gardens and rooftops and places I never would have found on my own.
You made me feel.
And I never told you how often your voice in my head kept me going. The way you'd say something ridiculous and follow it with something true. How you made me believe I deserved to take up space. To exist loudly.
You were my first breath of fresh air in a world that once felt like drowning.
I missed your stories. Your photos. The way you said my name like it was a punchline and a poem.
Thank you for loving me with your whole heart—even when I didn't know how to hold it.
With all my laughter,Sera
To Tessa,
You never needed to say it.
I saw it.
In every pause. Every glance. Every time your hand lingered a moment longer than necessary.
You loved me in a way I didn't understand until it was too late.
And yet… you stayed.
You waited.
Not because you were patient—but because your love was devotion made flesh. You held space for me without asking me to fill it. You were a home I didn't know I was building toward until the last door closed behind me.
I carried you with me the most.
You lived in every silence. Every stillness. Every ache of absence.
And when I dreamed, you were always the one standing in the distance—never calling, just waiting.
Thank you for giving me the freedom to return on my own terms.
And for still being there when I did.
With everything I have,Sera
They kept the letters.
I know they did.
Years later, I saw Claire tuck hers between pages of a half-finished journal.
I caught Diana once, reading hers again under candlelight, eyes wet.
Camille keeps hers in a case with pressed flowers. Lillian tied hers with a silk ribbon and never once opened it in front of anyone.
Tessa doesn't hide hers.
She keeps it near her bed.
And every once in a while, I catch her touching the ink with her fingertips, as if to make sure the words are still there.
And they are.
Because they always will be.
But for now, this is where our story ends.
Six girls, six hearts, bound together in a truth that outlived its pages.
And if love is a story, then perhaps, mine is still being written.
With these five girls at the center of it all.
All over again.