FROM THE PRIVATE PAPERS OF SEBASTIAN JAMES FAIRFAX

Do you grow weary of your poor friend? I saw you, Evie. You were laughing—smiling—looking so beautiful. It was so good to see you like that, but you were not smiling at me.

Your smiles were for a tall boy with hair like corn, and you looked so happy. As though you had never known me.

Have you forgotten me already? Or was this one more cruelty sent to me by my tormentors, as they wait hour by hour for me to fall into their grasp?

The end is getting closer, closer—

Perhaps I was crazy to think that you could stay true to me, when all I bring to those I love is danger and despair.

My parents, my friends—I spurned them all.

The women who served me I corrupted and then abandoned.

Dear Agnes, whom I valued above all others, my dearest Agnes whom I loved as a sister—I killed her as surely as though I had strangled her with my bare hands.

How, then, can I expect you to remain faithful to me?

Everything is leaving me.

Everything fades into mist.

Listen. This is important. You must listen to me, my darling, while I can still form these labored words—listen—

Our story may end well. Even now, there is still a flicker of hope, like a candle in a storm. One day, I may be saved. One day, I may see you face-to-face. Then I will tell you—I will tell you the whole of my heart. But there is another possible ending. Perhaps I have already glimpsed it.

In this story, you become discouraged. The road is too hard. You turn aside. There is someone else at your side. He walks in the living air, a young man with brown eyes and sunshine in his smile. Do you recognize this story? Is this the path you have chosen?

If so, don’t blame yourself.

Dark—so dark—so tired—

I ache for you. I scratch out words for you: “My darling, my dearest, love, longing…” But these words are worn and tattered, used in a thousand trite Valentine’s cards. How can I tell our story? What can I say? “For a little while, we walked the earth together, and it was enough.” What words can truly speak of that bliss?

I am so very weary; my strength fades—

I have no words to tell you how I crave your touch and the scent of your hair, and the trusting look in your eyes. But I must tell you this:

If you choose to bestow those graces upon another, I would understand. I will never blame you, Evie. All I want now is for you to walk in the sun. And if in your new life, you ever remember Sebastian James Fairfax, remember him with a smile, not with tears. Too many people have wept over me.

Everything fades.

My story must end soon. But yours must continue, and your path must be paved with every joy.