To my Dearest Teresa,
It is all my fault. I am sorry. I ask for your forgiveness as I write this from a damp and dark cell, with nothing but an oil lamp and a quill pen to help me compose this letter. I should have listened to you. I let my short temper get the best of me, and things got out of hand. If only I could turn back time to correct my mistake, I would have saved my comrades from getting shot and myself from getting incarcerated. This letter shall be my very last to you. My incompetent defense attorney has failed me at every step of the legal process, and all I can say is that I have lost the battle, as much as I hate to admit it.
To begin with, I leave you the house that we have both lived in happily for two years. I have managed to pay it off this year, so you do not have to worry about paying rent ever again. This probably makes you reminisce the times we’ve had in university together. Do you remember the time we both sneaked out of class to get the opportunity to watch the operetta, “The Riviera Girl Who Tripped?” It was a most joyous time. Professor Schwarz did not allow us to get a make-up examination, but going to the opera together was worth it.
I also leave with you all of my personal possessions, medical equipment, bank accounts, and the supply of candles in the house’s basement. Yes, I’ve placed them there just in case another candle shortage occurs in Windenburg. The current governor of Windenburg does nothing about these shortages, which made many of us revolutionaries angry. If things become chaotic, sell the house and leave Windenburg for good. Go to where my mother resides and build a new house there.
Tell my mother the grim news. Tell her that I love her even though we have had disagreements. Tell her that she will never see her foolish son ever again.
I will miss all the wonderful times we’ve had holding each other’s hands and caressing each other upstairs. I will miss all the times we’ve frolicked in the garden. I will miss all the times that I’ve read you poetry. I will miss your paintings that always leave an impression in my heart. I will miss the biscuits you bake, even if no one likes them. But most of all, I will miss you.
I love you.
My last favor is that you keep this letter in my chest by the bed. Never give it away, no matter what happens. It has been in my family for ages, and I would like you to have it.
I march to the gallows tomorrow at noon, to be executed along with Professor Albrecht, Doctor Bertrand, seven of my other comrades, and a babbling mad vagrant who stole a goat. I am not sure why the goat thief is also to be executed, but he apparently annoys the heck out of the prison warden.
I have failed as a Paragon and as a father. I regret that I will never get to see our unborn child. Farewell, my love.
(The signature appears to be covered with an ink blot that trails off.)
House credit: Grandma’s Cabin by Kimmsterr