January, 1894

With the holidays and winter come distraction, enough to keep thoughts of his ever persistent Ophelia at bay. It's only on one frosty afternoon, when the after-effects of the delusion James has left behind are the most tedious that Vince finally tugs the letters free and deigns to respond.

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Ophelia,

Perhaps you know better than I how the darkness in one's mind works. I have been alleviated of my most jarring affliction, but the remnants of curse remain. There are moments, whispers, where I feel it creeping in, long tendrils of rot and gore scratching at the top of my brain...

Have you lived before with such a sentiment? Do you know what it is like to feel at a loss of one's control so fully?


I am delighted to hear you have put your talented pen to good use, in more than just altruistic companionship to that which you do not know. Should I ever be able to return favor, if by looking over your notes and drawling parallels or conclusions, perhaps even making suggestions— do not hesitate to ask. I cannot say that I will be the most timely, but for you, dearest Ophelia, I shall set aside the effort required.

Yours,
Hamlet

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