17 December 1894

Samuel,

Perhaps I have gone mad, I'm writing you letters I know I will never send you. I should tell you that I wrote another letter tonight and this one was sent. I have decided I will not be idle in your absence. When have I ever been comfortable being idle? It isn't in my nature or yours. I will blame that nature for my owl: I wrote to Professor Crowley. Of our colleagues she is the best source of possible answers to my questions. I'm sure there are other options, but while I do not consider her a known entity or friend, I do trust her to chase knowledge for knowledge's sake and to do so without seeking to profit from me in the process. Those among our colleagues I consider to friendly are all too soft of sort or unversed in what I seek.

It angers me that you are gone because it's you'd I'd bring this question to. There are so many questions I have and all of them seem impossible to ask now. There is so much I want to know and you, my unexpected teacher, are gone. I do not know how to begin with my questions. How will I ever explain to this near stranger how my magic feels different somehow?

I'm not sure if you would find my impatience endearing or aggravating, but when we meet again, I hope I can explain myself.

Yours,
T.L.

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