To my love, my dear, my everything,

By the time you will be reading this, I will be long gone. I implore you not to try to follow me — this is for the best. You may not see it, but you will in time.

It splits my heart in half to know I have to leave. I never thought of myself as the kind of person who deserts in the middle of the night — but apparently, today is one of reckoning. Not that I’m leaving on impulse — I’ve thought long and hard about this for many months now. More than I care to admit, in fact.

This makes it sound as if I haven’t enjoyed our time together. I promise you, I have cherished every moment of these last two years. Truly, I have. It may sound hard to believe, considering the contents of this letter, but if you were to believe anything from this, I would want it to be that.

Now, my leaving has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. You see, my dear, when you met me, I was in shambles. A disaster. The broken semblances of someone who had done terrible, terrible things — things that were still haunting them, day and night. But you — you were a fresh gulp of air after suffocating in my own misery. You were the morning light after the darkest of nights. You were… well, you were you.

As you well know, I have never had much hope or love in my life. So the barest of affections from you meant the entire world to me. I clung onto this — onto you. When you asked my name, I gave it. What you didn’t know, and I’m sorry to reveal, is that it wasn’t my true name. In my haste to keep you in my life, the lie had slipped out without my approval.

And from there, I spun a web. A web of deceit and lies that I kept promising and promising I would crawl my way out of. But when? In a week? A month? A year? Why end it now, when I still had you? When you still looked at me with so much love? What’s one more lie, if you looked at me like that again — if you brushed your fingers against mine one more time?

But in recent months, the guilt has started to grow. It has festered, rotting me from the inside out. It has gotten to the point where I can barely stomach the thought of seeing you, in fear that it will all come tumbling out.

I can’t help but wonder now what you would say to all this, had I told you in person. Would you forgive me and agree to continue our life, which, as you now know, is nothing but a fantasy I initiated? I think not. Actually, I would hope not.

I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I’ve ruined your life — my apologies for giving myself all the credit, but I see it is true. Had you not met me, perhaps you would have found someone who was true to you, and not the coward that I am.

Please, do not doubt my love for you. It beats on, and will continue to beat on, until my last breath escapes me, and I am once more reunited with those that once trusted me, as you did. By now, you must be sick of me, so I shall leave you here, my darling. I would ask you not to forget me, but I think it may do you better to continue on as if we had never met.

So long, my love.

“I need to tell you something, urgently. It’s about your boss.” I stare blankly at the Post-It note on top of my desk. It hadn’t been there when I left to fill up my water bottle a mere thirty seconds ago. I look around, but everyone else in the office is still focused on their computer screens. None of them bat an eye in my direction. I shrug it off and throw the note in the garbage can a few feet away. When I turn around, there’s another Post-It on my desk. This one says, “Please, you have to listen to me. You could be in danger.” That’s it. This has to be some silly prank one of the interns is playing. I peel the note off and stick it in the corner of my desk, shaking my head all the while. I sit down and mentally prepare myself for another few hours of staring at nothing other than my computer screen. However, I’m appalled to find another sticky note obscuring my screen, with the words “It’ll take less than a minute to explain, I swear. Just listen to me.” written on it. I look around again, but I can’t see anyone hiding behind the cubicle walls or under my desk. How on Earth are they doing this? Rolling my eyes, I rip the note away and stick it with the other one. I’m not going to let some stupid prank distract me from doing what needs to be done. Half an hour goes by, and I’m starting to believe that the pranker has gotten the hint and left me alone. I go to take a sip from my water bottle, only to find yet another note, saying, “He’s coming! You have to get out of here!” I huff, ball it up, and toss it toward the trash can. It flies in perfectly. This time the note did seem to hold a bit of truth, as a few minutes later, the boss walks in. He’s a burly man, with a handlebar mustache and graying hair. He looks as if he’s never learned how to smile. The office ignores him. I do my best to do the same, but it’s hard to continue with my work when I can feel his eyes staring daggers at me. He grunts, and I look up at him. He gestures for me to follow him out of the room. I stand, and with one involuntary glance at the sticky notes still sitting in the corner of my desk, I go after him. Instead of being led to his personal office, we end up in an empty corridor at the back of the building. It’s empty and stark, reminding me of a warehouse or a hospital. There’s only one thing of color in the whole hallway, and that would be the bright yellow Post-It note on the boss’s back. “I warned you,” it says. My eyes trail down to the boss’s hands. I could’ve sworn his nails had grown since we left the main office. They’re the longest and sharpest nails I’ve ever seen… almost like claws…

Smoke drifts up from the campfire, circling in the air. It fills my lungs and blinds me. I shield my eyes with my jacket sleeves as I continue to watch the embers of the fire. They burn red, a bright scarlet that serves as a warning. The flames themselves lick at the air, shrinking as the night wanes on. With each log that’s added to the pile, the fire grows, casting a glow around the area. It crackles and sends sparks shooting in the air. By the morning, the fire is gone, and I continue on my journey. Only the ashes are any indicator of the night before.

“If you listen close enough,” they say, “you can hear the Lost Lady of Pembrooke Estate. You can hear her through the cracks in the decaying walls of the old manor. Her cries echo through the night, drifting through the trees that guard the haunted forests. Her voice moves with the wind billowing through the town, harmonizing with the wind chimes that dangle above store fronts and aged houses. When all is still, and the music stops, the crunches of the leaves underfoot ring in your ears as a warning to stay away. “And if you’re lucky enough,” they say, “you can see the Lost Lady of Pembrooke Estate. You can see her through the cracks in the decaying walls of the old manor. Her figure moves through the fields, her fraying dress swaying against the dead grass as her lantern leads her toward town. Her gaunt face never leaves your memory, with her blank eyes that stare through you, to the very core of your very being. When all is still, and the wind slows, she stops mere feet away from you and just watches you, almost daring you to walk away. “And if you’re lucky enough,” they say, “you can touch the Lost Lady of Pembrooke Estate. You can feel her smooth, olive skin beneath your finger tips as she stands before you. Her hair is wispy as it blows around in the wind, tickling your face. Her dress is worn, made of fabric long past created, but still holds the memories of the years before. When all is still, and the lights go out, she takes your hands in her own… she smiles softly… and you’re never to be seen again.”