"Weep not too much, my darling;

Sigh not too oft for me;

Say not the face of Nature

Has lost its charm for thee.

I have enough of anguish

In my own breast alone;

Thou canst not ease the burden, Love,

By adding still thine own. "

-Weep Not Too Much, Anne Bronte


I did not want to die. Of course I did not want to die.

I reassured all who visited that I had accepted my fate and was content in my going, but truly I could not grasp the thing. There was so much I was leaving undone- and my poor, Dear John. He was an unjustly bereaved man- his brother, his health, his dearest friend, and now his wife. I could swear that I had been his only hold on reality since Mr. Holmes died. I so hoped that he would find another, for I could not stand for him to do something foolish because of this wretchedly timed fatality.

That was my worst qualm, leaving him alone. As much as my own intentions were to be ruined, I thought that he would be forever sunken into a deep depression, or worse. I could not stand that- oh, I loved him so. Alas, I was powerless over such an inevitable force as death.

I could not ask him not to mourn; he would do so regardless. I could only ask to him to find some other hold on reality- whatever providential thing it might be.


A/N: Geez, I'm not even in a sad mood or anything…

Well, would you look at that, 50 chapters! I want to thank you all for your support and kind words. My reviews page flabbergasts me. You rock my socks.