Evening, August 1st, 1888

Febs,

I don't know where to begin except to tell you that I'm safe. The fog has gone and, thus, the expedition is over. I would give you all the nitty gritty details, but I must admit that everything seems so unreal to me at the moment. It's been a month, Febs. A month. I can't even imagine what you've been feeling in that time—hopefully keeping yourself plenty busy—but it felt like no more than a day to me. I mean that in the most literal sense.

The fog, or at least the building it seemed all the groups ended up congregating in by the end of the expedition, seemed to have time-warping capabilities that almost made it seem as we were trekking through an ordinary night. I realize I haven't slept a minute in the past month simply because I didn't feel the month go by.

As you might imagine, I slept the entire way back London. After speaking to the Ministry and reporting my findings both as an individual and an auror, I was able to get back home. Assuming the fog has cleared in Bartonburg, you're welcome to visit me at [address here] whenever you'd like. Take the floo; there's a fireplace here.

If you can't come, send me a letter. I missed you.

Love,
E

  

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— set by MJ! —

August 1st, 1888

Edric,

I'm well aware it's been a month. I will be there as soon as everyone goes to bed.

All My Love,
Febs

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