My Lord,
You are the dearest thing in my life. I know that on the morrow your loyal friends will be sent to execution. I would wish that it would not be so. Though it be a great danger writing this, I promise with my whole heart to hunt the men, cowards, who ran. I know that in our fight we drive for justice among all men. While you were gone, men forgot you, they remember only the stories, I will lived on, to keep the truth alive. I pray that now you have returned, you will find favor with me again and our struggle shall be the struggle of the people. For then, as true as these words are written, we shall be victorious. I must end here, for the scratchings of my quill shall wake the servants.
Your Love,
Lady Voldemort.