November 23rd, 1881
My fading love,
My lifeless heart breaks all the same. The look of shock on your face was all I needed to see. Your words through trembling lips, an uneven fence of anguish and despair, though comforting, left me far more cursed then my current condition. You claim to need time, and with such a statement I would understand, considering my circumstance; but your eyes said more then words could ever utter.
Truly, I did not ask for this, as you know, as I have told you. How much did you really here? You said you would give all to me willingly, but when faced with giving your very life; ah my love, who could ask such a thing, give such a thing, not I and never from you. I have thought of going to Scotland to consider my fate. How easy it would be to walk out into sunlight and be done. There is nothing to live for dead or alive. Without you, life is pointless. I will be at the manor deciding my fate. Perhaps Scotland is only a dream, a hope to find meaning within a living hell. And surly hell is where my soul is going. Perhaps to end it now and not give credence to the hunger will create some sort of reprieve. I had only longed to live my entire life with you and then within the here after.
I am pleased that your fear has struck within you a sensibility. My selfishness abides and still rings a slight hope that you would join me willingly. My anguish, my torment; even these words make little sense. On one hand, I want you with me to share damnation. The other hand only wants to die to save you from a decision, that can only end in eternal sorrow. It seems to me, there is only one choice. Still, I would like to cast my eyes upon you one last time. Just my asking will have you at my doorstep, I know this. Ah, the insanity! Am I tempting fate? Is my selfish need for you so complete that I would risk sacrificing your soul, so as to not be one of the undead without you? I have become a monster; my words a torrent of madness.
I believe these questions have answered themselves. Sebastian will be delivering this note to you soon. Ah, Sebastian, surly a selfless aide to the very end. The word butler is a tragedy to how I feel; he is my dearest friend. Tonight I rest; there will be no feeding; and in the morn, Scotland will most likely pass away as just a song. Apparently I have answered all my questions within a single note to my beloved. But know my love; my last thought will only be of you. Do me a last favor and stay away. I know of my request to see you, but I know this is wrong. Please my love, stay away. I have lost my soul and apparently my mind as well.
With all the love I have left
Archie
