How have you been? Has the weather been kind to you this season, my delicate being, to which I devote my heart and soul? I do hope you are feeling well and that you are happily strolling on the city’s streets and that your tongue has the joy of tasting sweet, delicious delicacies, which, by no means, have the same warmth, sweetness and gentle features you hold.
I hope your loving existence in this world and the reception of your kind words may bring some moments of peace to this tortured soul of mine. I’m writing to you in a devastated, desperate, disgusted state of mind, opening my heart to you, my dearest, searching for better, beautiful thoughts, searching for the angelic picture of you, so that my heart may feel a little lighter and my head less tempestuous.
I concluded my creation, my dear Elizabeth, and I know understand the reason why we all are born humans, not holding in our hands any capacity to act like our Lord. Indeed, nature is the most beautiful and perfect creation that we can behold, but any of my attempts to recreate it are, now, the one reason that keep me unable to compose my mind to sleep. Horror has invaded my world, my eyes, my soul and my mind! I cannot endure the aspect of my horrific creation! My laboratory is now the stage of a living hideous creation, which embodies the idea of death, instead of the perfection of life. And the vision of all the bones, body pieces, sutures, organs are now unbearable and the present accusatory objects of my death sin.
In an attempt to flee from my own mind, I threw myself, with my clothes, on the bed; and I slept. But, my dear, even there, in my sleep, my living nightmare is haunting me
I dreamt of you, Elizabeth, in the bloom of your health, walking in Ingolstadt, beautiful as ever! Oh, my dear, how I ran to embrace you! But as I imprinted a first kiss on your rosy, delicate lips, they immediately became livid with the hue of death! Suddenly, my dearest, I had a corpse in my armsand I did not know whether it was you, or my mother
Yes, my darling, again, the scar of her death has been opened and her death bled in my dreams, blending with my horror, and taking away any hope for peace
I am fearful, my loved one, that I have concocted my own doom. And I also fear for us, for you, my angel; that my demoniac creation may be the hands that bring your death. I cannot stop myself from the death-filled thoughts, from the mental sight of corpses, of the destruction of my life and the lives of those whom I have loved. And having the feeling that this apocalypse has been created from my own hands is torturing me to a level that is becoming more and more impossible to endure.
I need you to erase, my dear, all this death and horror from my bleeding and desperate soul! I hope you kind, understanding words may bring rays of life to this grim, gray, existence that has become to be my life.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Forever and fatally yours,
Victor
