The characters of Warehouse 13 do not belong to me but I borrow them a lot. I do not earn any money with it, though, so there's no need to sue.
My love Myka,
I am afraid the art of epistolary communication has gone out of this world and in receiving this you might wonder what might possess a person in this day and age - as it is one of mass communication that never truly transports the writer's personality nor her feelins for the recipient - to write a letter. Seeing that I am the sender you might conclude that this is done in a nostalgic mood - but you would be wrong. In my current place of residence (for lack of something I might call "home") there are no computers, no means to send an email, nor to make a phone call. This may seem like the end of the world to people who are used to this world's standards but it feels more like my time - now, if I could get a decent cup of tea here I might never leave again (this is said in jest as you should know I would rather be in Univille, South Dakota, than anywhere else - I now begin to miss the simplicity of emoticons).
I cannot tell you where I am and this letter will be many weeks before it will reach you. It will be send at least around half the world, it will not always be handled with care, it might get lost. I have no way of knowing and maybe - hopefully - I will reach you before this letter does. In any case it will be far too late to convey the wishes for that one holiday that I have always - in a sense of traditional nostalgia and fondness of present-giving but especially receiving - cherished: Christmas. I hope you will be with your loved ones, whether these might be the family you were born into or the ones at the warehouse might not even matter - though I am sentimental fool enough to imagine you at the B&B with Pete and Claudia and Leena and Artie, maybe Vanessa will be there, maybe even Mrs. Frederic, and in spirit, at least, I will be there.
These days it seems I am always with you, in thought.
I hope you will get many delightful new books that I will borrow quite without asking when I will be back. And make no mistake, dearest Myka, that I will be back. This is only a temporary dwelling in a series of misplacements, I will be back and then - at least if things are going according to my wishes for once - I will never leave again. I will never leave you again. And now I am staining this prescious piece of paper with tears, I am so sorry, you will be quite unable to decipher the words but I do flatter myself that you do understand the emotion. It is one of longing. I miss you. For once, I feel that words are unable to convey this one feeling, the hole where your laughter used to dwell, your delicious smell, the comfort of your arms and the rhythm of your heart beat fastened by the excitement of our love-making. I am starting to forget during the waking hours what tortures me in my dreams: the vision of you. I love you. And these words have been repeated so liberally in all kinds of communication that it should numb the meaning but it does not. I feel it stronger now than at any other moment in my life - except for when I was with my lovely Christina. I love you, indeed, and that is why I will never be able to live away from you for long. This will not be long, I will not let it be long.
Same old Helena, making promises she might not be able to keep. But for this one: there will be a new book at the end of this journey, it will tell the story of our love and it will have a happy ending.
This paper is now filled with my thoughts and feelings of you and there is only very little space left. Please wish our warehouse family a happy Christmas, I miss them all. Tell Claudia to keep looking for me as I am sure she is. Give Pete a brotherly kiss from me and Artie... tell him I am still looking. My best to Leena and anyone else that might be with you now. I envy them your presence, that they may be able to let their eyes linger on your loveliness. You are my love, always.
Devotedly, Helena.