Dear journal,
Last night I awoke before the sun, having had a truly terrifying nightmare. It was the strangest I had ever dreamed, and has stayed with me for the entire day. I have the feeling that it will continue to remain with me for many weeks to come.
It has been quite some time since Justine was murdered - I say murdered because I know that she was innocent of the crime she was accused of, and even framed for it. However, as long as I haven't seen her, last night she appeared to me so vividly that it was as if she was standing before in my waking life, as realistically as I see the servants in my house.
She spoke to me. At first, her voice was clear and soft, sounding like it had when she was alive. Then, as she told me her story, her voice became harsher. It sounded at first like she had a sore throat, and then more masculine. Her voice became that of a man, but a man who seemed to have trouble speaking to others. He (or she?) pronounced many of his vowels as no more than sour breaths.
Her story was not very clear, and merely reminded me of her innocence. She apologized to me for something, but I could not understand what. It was something about a tall man she had seen, who had frightened her as much as the nightmare had frightened me.
Then, for some reason, she warned me. She told me that I should not marry Victor, and if I had to, to prevent us from going far from home for our wedding night. She told me to keep the two of us in a crowd, and not anywhere where we can be attacked without anyone seeing it.
I am not sure whether or not I should tell Victor of this warning.
The dream ended soon after this, a few vignettes from my day replaying in my mind. First was talking to my father about how is going to visit Victor soon and saying goodbye to Henry before he went off to find my future husband. Henry told me that Victor had requested that he not leave to find him, but it is in the way of Henry to surprise Victor in this way.
I can only pray that my nightmare was nothing but a strange echo coming from my overworked imagination.
Until next time, journal,
Elizabeth Frankenstein.