Iolayne
Iolayne flipped the envelope over, eyeing it suspiciously. She toyed around with it, placing it on the desk before her, putting it back into the drawer, but in the end held it at her eyes height once more.
Minutes lapsed before she carefully opened the envelope, long black nail easily cutting through the glue. Several pieces of thin paper escaped their enclosure, each filled with tiny black letters.
Iola’s hand shook; the handwriting was so very, very familiar…
Frustration overwhelmed her, nails dug deep into her palms. Why couldn’t she just read the letter and get it over with it? Or just throw it away? She knew what it contained, she knew very well. What was done was done, nothing could change that. No words could soothe her, no words could-
Nothing could give her her life back.
Iola folded the piece of paper and looked at it once more, her face emotionless. She hesitated before beginning to systematically tear the pages into pieces, one by one, all twelve of them, stacking the bits into neat columns. She didn’t hurry – she had plenty of time.
An eternity of time.
She frowned as goosebumps appeared on her milky white arms. Shivering, she realized she was cold.
Cold? She was rarely cold these days, no matter what the temperature was.
Iolayne glanced up, furrowing her brows – the window was open, letting a chilly night breeze into her small room. She stood up and made a move as if to close it, but stopped.
What was that?
Something was out there? Or did she just imagine it? She stiffened, narrowing her eyes. Iola hissed into the night, hoping to scare away anything that might be a threat. No answer came, but Iola still did not feel safe. She turned the old latch, trying to close the window, but the handle fell off – she twisted it much too hard.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the metal piece in her palm, her mind far, far away. She knew what happened; no letter was needed to remind her of previous events.
Nevertheless, she was drawn to it. Each day, week, month – time passed with the knowledge that in that room, in that desk, was that envelope.
The key to it all.
Her hand shook as she returned to the letter, willing the pieces to be one once more. She started reading.
Description. While I do like your simple writing style, I thought you could use a little more description in general. Don't overdo it, but if you gave the reader more of an impression, it would improve this.
