Living, thee alone I'll have; And when dead I'll be thy grave
The journey is long, and soon, Ethan's wrists are aching and burning from the chains that binds them. He has lost track of time and he thinks it won't be long now before he loses his mind as well. So his thoughts float away, and he catches himself carving secret letters in the bleeding flesh of his poisoned heart.
He sourly remembers each and every one of the painful words he wrote in the phony letter he left under Vanessa's door. How false and unjust they still ring in his own ears, how plainly preposterous they feel now.
The furious waves lull him comfortingly, and on the edge of what he wishes would be oblivion more than plain sleep, he unchains the flow of words he so wants to whisper against the cold marble of her neck.
My dear Miss Ives,
I wish you would throw my last letter to the fire and watch as the flames lick at the words like the fires of Hell will soon devour my soul. My sins are already countless, but they are rendered even more unforgivable by the awful lies I've written to you. As you contemplate the fire, please let every one of those shameful words leave the sanctuary of you heart and memory forever.
Believe me when I say that I've never wanted anything more than to stay by your side, where, according to God's plans, I rightfully belong.
I confess to having sugarcoated the truth of my departure. I know you have a fondness for sugary treats, but I also know you won't be fed sweet and elegant lies. You are strong enough to live with the truth, and the truth is that I was afraid you would try and get me to stay; for I am weak and you would have direly succeeded.
The place I left for is the only place I'd ever go without your hand in mine: Hell. I have long felt I ought to pay for my crimes with my own life, but London called to me and I could not resist fate. I knew, when I first saw you, that I could not die while you weren't safe. Yet the rules changed when you became like me, a murderer.
I don't blame you. It is not my place to judge of the purity of your soul. But I blame myself for letting you kill those men, of letting you stray from the path that leads to God.
It is with the wish to take your actions on me that I walked to the billow, hoping for a quick, liberating death, with your gentle, loving touch still lingering on my cheeks. My resolve is slowly failing me now, as I'm being shipped back to the United States, to be executed in front of those I have offended.
I'm clinging to the hope that you, my darling, will be freed from your burdens with the spilling of my blood.
I trust you'll find it in your heart to understand my choice.
Forever your loving protector,
Ethan
And he doesn't feel the soft but insisting touch of her cold, small hands anymore, but the violent swell of the ocean rocking the ship reminds him of how he used to waltz through the moors endlessly, sinking in the depth of her pale blue eyes.
They dance to a music that's only for them to hear, and before he knows it, he has fallen into a comatose sleep.
