_27th August -_

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I had not wished to unearth my secret, but it would seem the masses demand it.

I flee for England in two days. I am quite merry about the prospect, for I have only heard whispers of such a wonderful realm.

The seasons are miserable and glum, the tempests roar with a ferocity woven of The Lord above, and its environs is ruinous and bleeding with history untold. One might ponder the description for, certainly, the mere word of wonderful is enmeshed with that of an angelic grace.

I find beauty in all things dark.

Why, it was and is a dream of mineto dwell within the Isles. I am fond of how it beckons me, for it kisses and caress my very heart!

You will forgive me, Terresa. We have been sisters, not by blood, since we could teeter upon our very stout feet. It was you, dear, whom liberated me from vast plights and anguish; I do not know how I shall cope without you.

You must be on your mettle, my flower. I weep as I scrawl upon this parchment, and only are these tears for you. I shall write to you when I disembark upon the quay in London. I am beyond thrilled!

Mediate to my grotesque family that I shall not miss them when the farce of my farewell celebration commences. Tell them I shall only yearn for your companionship when I depart, the one whom exulted me from my fears. That shall be a slap to their countenance!

Yours, and forevermore,

Francesca.