Dorothea,
I have tried a great many words in an attempt to say what it is so deeply rooted in my heart to say, and the pile of waste parchment at the side of my writing desk will attest that is true. But there are no words, at least not that I can share paper, that befit such a unique situation as ours. I feel that I need to explain myself, and yet my deeds are plain to see. There is more, as there always is to any story told, but I have no desire to excuse my actions.
I cannot begin to imagine the hurt I have caused you, and not a day goes by that I do not think of it. That I do not wonder how things might have changed had I not hidden behind the promise that you would know what I was hiding soon enough. I suppose this is it, you have read all of the pages of my story now. If I were as simple as a book that could earn its judgement within hours of its telling, I might have accepted your disappearance as answer enough.
But I cannot accept that, Dorothea. My heart beats too hard when I wake thinking I have heard your voice, and my fingers ache to touch your hand when your face surfaces in my thoughts. I apologise for the invasion that comes with Hubert finding you and delivering this letter to you, but I believe my cause is great enough to warrant it, just this once. I have to try.
I wish to meet with you. This is the last patience I will ask of you, and you need not agree at all. If you will grant me your time, leave a candle in the window of the west tower of the church in which Hubert finds you. I will see it. I will come.
Yours always,
Edelgard
can you still love me when you can’t see me anymore? / @milotheas
