My Dearest Robert,

I will not lie and tell you that this letter will be particularly long or particularly positive. As you can assume, the negative comments will have to do with the story you have sent me. For the sake of your feelings, I will begin and end with the happy things, which I hope you will be content to hear.

First of all, it is wonderful to hear from you, brother. Your letters are always so detailed and make me feel as if I am right there with you, seeing what you have seen throughout your travels. I am also glad to hear that you have finally found a friend to confide in, and to place your everlasting trust in. However, as glad as this makes me, it also worries me.

I fear that you will begin to believe this man's tale too deeply, and become too involved in it. The story he is telling, while clear and detailed, may not be as true and trustworthy as you seem to see it. You write his story down as something that is Biblical, that is as true as God intended it to be, but the tale itself is completely unrealistic. The words this man is telling you are not the words of truth, and are not words that can be taken as more than a poor traveler's scribbles on the pages of your imagination.

I expected more from you. I expected that you would see the falsehoods in this man's story, and be nothing but entertained by it. Now I see that you truly believe it, and I know that it is beginning to frighten you. I beg of you to stop believing the tale, and even to go as far as forgetting it, while still treating your friend with the respect he deserves. I suggest that you ask him just how true his story is, and whether or not he himself believes it, for I feel that this inquiry could tell you a great deal.

To clarify, I myself have not finished the story. The moment his character - the monster - narrated the killing of William, the boy he claims to be his younger brother, I instantly dropped the pages of your letter and began to burn them. Halfway through, though, I stopped, fearing I would lose some of your precious notes and thoughts. I saw that he had killed off his friend, Henry Clerval, and that Elizabeth was threatened. I am glad I began burning the pages when I did, otherwise the story would have affected me in the same manner in which it has affected you. However, every so often, bits of the story appear to me, and every person I see on the street looks like his so called "Creation."

Please stop dwelling on his tale, as I have not been able to.

To end this letter happily, I will tell you that whence you've come back home, you can expect to find a younger brother. He is precious to me, and even in his short days of life, already reminds me slightly of you. He is a newborn waiting to become an adventurer. The only thing wrong with him is his name. Despite my efforts, Mother has insisted upon naming him William. I did not tell her of your friend's story, but did try my best to prevent her cursing our brother with that title. Still, I simply have to continue persuading myself that it is nothing but a name, and that the story as a whole is nothing but a lie.

Yours lovingly,

Marguerite Saville