Dear Jack E.B.,

If you are reading this letter, it almost certainly means that I am no longer vulnerable to the cruelties and injustices that modern mankind has sewn into this once pure earth’s soil.

Please do not do anything stupid. I loved you too much for you to do anything like I apparently did (seeing as how you are reading this).

Please place my remains in the petrified forest of Wrenwick, next to where you will lay beside me for all eternity.

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I love you, and I always have, even though at times I’ve questioned why—I know you have, too. I would say I’m waiting for you, but I loved you too much to let you waste the rest of your life by waiting for it to end.

Thus, I’ll conclude by stating that I will always love you, and I will not await you.

Your Eternal,

Ingrid-Lunette de la Rouge-B’mot

P.S.: I do regret the fact that you did not read this while I was still alive. You should know my reasoning… considering that this is not yet burned, and you are not redoing your marriage vows yet.

P.P.S.: I noticed the irony of your gapped surname rather late. No wonder several parrots told me I was cursed; my married name does roughly translate to “Ingrid Little Moon, of the Red Tomb.”