Divine Rivals (Letters of Enchantment, #1)

by Rebecca Ross

As for how I’m doing these days … the grief is still heavy within me, and I think it would be dragging me into a pit if I wasn’t so distracted. Some moments, I feel okay. And then the next, I’ll be struck by a wave of sadness that makes it hard to breathe.

In the meantime, I hope you will find your place, wherever you are. Even in the silence, I hope you will find the words you need to share.

“I am seventy-five years old, Roman,” she began. “I’ve seen endless things throughout my life, and I can tell you right now that this world is about to change. The days to come will only grow darker. And when you find something good? You hold on to it. You don’t waste time worrying about things that won’t even matter in the end. Rather, you take a risk for that light. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

I’ll be here, waiting for whenever you’re ready to see me.

It’s a school-turned-infirmary filled with wounded bodies and souls and lives, and yet they are people so full of bravery and hope and determination it makes you hold a mirror to your own self when you’re alone. To find and name what lurks within you. Relief, shame, admiration, sadness, hope, encouragement, dread, faith. And why such things are there in your bones, when you’ve yet to give yourself up to something so selfless. It’s wondering what tomorrow will bring. What the next hour will bring. What the next minute will bring. Time suddenly feels sharper than a knife grazing your skin, capable of cutting you at any moment.

“These days, I think anything is possible, Iris.”

He was thinking about her far too much, and he knew this was going to doom him.

You remove a piece of armor for them; you let the light stream in, even if it makes you wince. Perhaps that is how you learn to be soft yet strong, even in fear and uncertainty. One person, one piece of steel.

I don’t think you realize how strong you are, because sometimes strength isn’t swords and steel and fire, as we are so often made to believe. Sometimes it’s found in quiet, gentle places. The way you hold someone’s hand as they grieve. The way you listen to others. The way you show up, day after day, even when you are weary or afraid or simply uncertain.

Keep writing. You will find the words you need to share. They are already within you, even in the shadows, hiding like jewels.

“I may have said you were a rival,” he countered. “But I never said you were an acquaintance.”