My Dearest Lady Dimitrescu, writing this letter is the most painful experience of my life. I would rather choose to have my hand sliced off a thousand times more (preferably by you) than be cursed with the burden of putting these thoughts to paper... but paper I must...
Our connection runs deep. Deeper than the mold coursing through my veins. Deeper than your claws whence they pierced my heart. Deeper than how deep a pool would have to be for you to stand at the bottom and still be underwater. But I must move on... I have another life. Another world. Another... family. And though I would gladly cast them into a volcano of hellfire for another second with your crystalized remains... I cannot. Because I am dead. And that is literally the only thing keeping me from respecting your power a single moment more. Should there be an afterlife, I can only hope that I find myself held safe within your warm, profound, ample embrace.
XOXO,
Ya boy
