Iris wandered her flat in a numb haze, feeling as if her life had shattered, and finally sat on the floor of her room with her grandmother’s typewriter. Without overthinking, she wrote a candid letter admitting her fear of loving others because everyone she cares about leaves, and she revealed she had just lost someone close to her. She reflected on how she had once believed she was writing to her brother Forest but now understood she was also writing for herself, to navigate loss and ambition, and she reached out to the correspondent as both stranger and friend.

After folding the letter and sending it through the wardrobe portal, Iris tried to soothe herself in the empty flat. She donned her trench coat, noting it smelled like Roman Kitt from when he returned it to her, and she returned to her room to find a reply—the thickest letter yet.

The correspondent’s letter confided a guarded part of his life: he had a younger sister, Georgiana Delaney, called Del, whom he adored. He described taking Del to a pond against their parents’ wishes on her seventh birthday, briefly closing his eyes as a storm approached, and then finding her floating facedown. He pulled her to shore and tried to revive her, but she had drowned.

The correspondent recounted the devastation of telling his parents and the lasting grief and guilt of feeling responsible for Del’s death, which occurred four years prior. He told Iris about a dream a month later in which a goddess offered to remove his pain by erasing his memories of Del; he refused, choosing to keep both memory and grief.

He concluded by acknowledging the long process of mourning, assuring Iris that grief becomes a fainter shadow as life brightens, and emphasizing that others who share such pain help with healing. He underscored that Iris is not alone in her fear, grief, hopes, or dreams.