Letter from the Ash, No. I — What the Embers Remember

Letter from the Ash, No. I
Written beneath a crown of smoke and stillness

“Silence is not cold. No, it is fire. And the words are the aches that burned.”

I was the quiet one. Still to the world, wild beneath the skin.

Long before I knew how to spell devastation, I knew the sound of it in another’s breath. Before I believed in grief, I watched it curl inside the hush of every unsaid thing. And before I ever put flame to page, I learned the body speaks even when the lips will not.

This letter is not a confession. It’s a reclamation. A remembering. A ritual.

For the ones who were told their silence was weakness. For the ones who burned quietly. For the ones who carry stories in their marrow, not their mouths.

There is a voice that lives in the ash. And it is mine. And it is yours.

Elowen writes this letter barefoot, ember-lit, and unhidden.

For those who remember what the fire tried to erase.

This piece is protected—not to preserve perfection, but to honor the sacred ache of becoming. All material shared here is original and may not be copied, reproduced, or used in any form without written permission from the source.

Elowen stands here—smoke-kissed, ember-lit, and unhidden.

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