Writer Games: The Final Twist & A Night in Wattpad Manor & Faction Wattpad

Letters Never to be Sent: Melissande Fleur Vanar

Despite all the  deaths- sixteen in total- the remaining guests gather at the dining  table for breakfast in the morning. Next to me, Samuel begins to  scribble something on paper.

I don't know what he's writing, but an idea occurs to me. I pull out a pencil and a piece of paper and begin to write:

Dear Child of Mine,

There is so much to  say, and so little time. In the start of my pregnancy, I was a child. I  thought of myself as a mature, responsible grown up- but truth be told, I  wasn't. Not yet.

The irresponsibility  of I went to such a degree, that I had neared the end of my pregnancy  without a single solid plan for how I was to take care of you. So in  this way, if we make it out of this alive, this nightmare I am living  will ultimately be to your benefit.

You see, two weeks  ago I received a letter from an Aunt Cynthia. I vaguely remembered  meeting an Aunt Cynthia as a child at a family reunion of sorts, and my  mother had mentioned Cynthia previously. This letter invited me to a  Manor, and promised me money if I came.

As you may have gathered, this letter was a hoax.

Once I arrived at  the manor, there was no sign of the host. This did not bother me, as I  was not alone at the manor. There were twenty other guests, and food and  drink set out. But just after the main course was put onto the table,  the lights went out. When they came back on, a man was dead.

There was chaos.  Confusion. An Inspector arrived- Inspector Henry Graham. He questioned  all of us, determined to figure out who the killer was. The killer  murdered ten more guests, before killing the Inspector himself. Another  guest, Penelope Lockheart and I teamed up to search for clues for the  identity of the killer. We did not find much of use, but perhaps the  killer didn't like us even trying, or perhaps Penny found something she  didn't show me. Regardless, she was the killer's next victim.

In the light of the  morning sunrise, the seven remaining guests and I held brief funerals  for the fourteen deceased. This was when I truly realized how silly and  immature I had been, and the full truth of the events around me.

Two more guests have  been murdered since the funerals. Now there are only six of us left  alive, and I may very well be the next. For your sake, I hope this is  not the case.

I hope that even if I  die here, it is not before you are born, and you can live even if I  cannot. This is a lot to hope for. But, quite frankly, it is much more  likely than both of us surviving this day.

I do not know what  your life will be like when you are reading this. Will you be in foster  care? Raised by my parents, or one of my siblings? Adopted by someone  with no relation myself? Or will I be the one to raise you? I cannot  answer.

So badly I wish that  I will be there through your life to see you grow, that you will live  your childhood feeling safe and knowing I love you. But I know now that  such a bright future for both of us may not be possible.

I want you to know  that I love you more than I have loved anyone else in my entire life.  Know that I will love you until the day I die, whether that be today or  years from now. And, my dearest child, remember above all else: never  give up hope.

Your Loving Mother,

Mellissande Vanar