Ipswich, England
the 23rd of May 1781
Dear Arthur,
It would be rather strange to hear voices in the depths of a lake or in the darkness of a forest - but who has ever said that madness made any sense?
And even so, my dear love, I am sure that I am not mad, as they say. They are all lying to you, they have always been, all this time. They want to tear us apart, and, God, I see that they are completing this dreadful task quite well...
You know my love for the forest, especially in fall. I love to feel the chilly wind on my skin and the fallen, dry, red leaves under my bare feet. Have you ever noticed how red they are? It's like all the warmth they felt during summer came to the surface together with autumn. Or it's like they have fallen dead, dead corpses of summer and they're covered in blood... Either way, they still are beautiful and misterious, they have something magical in them.
I used to watch them come down from the branches of the old trees. They were floating on the air, which was carrying them down gently, as if making sure they would reach the ground to simply let their macabre beauty rot there - just like my dear mother's corpse.
"Dear mother"... Why dear? I barely knew her, for she died when I was only three years old. You know the story. You, my love, know exactly what happened then without knowing what I felt. You may laugh. You may say that I truly am mad. Do as you please, for I can only reach you through the words written on this paper - they cannot feel you, touch you, slap you, stroke you or tame you rebel locks... So you needn't fear their reaction at your laughter ( which I hope will not come alive on you lips ). I, as I foolish child as I was, did not feel any sadness. I felt only emptiness, and emptiness that never ceased to exist. When she died, she locked all my memories of her deep within my mind, she sealed them with her death. I can draw you a portrait of hers just by looking at the image in my mind - and it would be perfect.
But what I remember best is her lied down in the coffin. She was as white as snow and her skin as soft as silk! She looked like an angel who was sleeping, not like a corpse of a woman who has left her family in this world to cross the border to the other one. I assume that is the reason why I call her my "dear" mother, for she is, or at least, has been dear to me.
Father said that I must have gone mad from the sadness I felt then. But I didn't feel neither sadness, nor pain. But it's then I started hearing voices - in the woods and underwater.
Some years ago one of my friends said she'd teach my to swim. It was something new to me and I have always wanted to know how it felt when to cold dark green water of the lake touched my skin, my entire body - not only the tips of my fingers.
I was a fast learner, therefore I became a good swimmer quite fast.
One day I felt the need to dive. It was like the girls were trapped in another world - the real one - and I was isolated in a world of silence. It may sound like the words of a mad person, but I was lucid at the time. I knew what I was doing perfectly, as I can recall the event.
So I dived.
I held my breath and let my body float underwater. It was like I was trapped in an ice cube, but I got used to the cold. And... I heard her voice. My dear mother's voice.
She was calling me to her, my love, she wanted me to join her!
The happiness I felt was breathtaking.
But after this, everything gets blurry. I remember only that I woke up in my bed the next day. I heard the servants talking - they said it's a miracle I didn't drown. I had a fever.
But, you know my character - when I'm determined to do something, I do it. So, when I got better, I went into the woods again to meet my old and only friends - the wind, the leaves, the trees and autumn.I have always enjoyed their company, for they can listen to my words and always agree with me. I think they are the only ones not saying that I'm mad.
And, oh, my love, I have to admit it, and you may laugh again : I love an oak tree more than you! I have watched its leaves falling at my feet every autumn, I have heard the wind blow through its branches, singing to me and I have seen that tree getting older and older... Ah, what a naive child I was! I have found myself loving it, adoring it, embracing its brown trunk and kissing the rough tree bark.
Alas! Why am I telling you things you already knew about? All I wanted to say is that one day, while I was resting upon the oak tree, I heard my mother's voice again, singing a lullaby...
She's calling me, Arthur, I know it. She's calling me from beyond the grave - the beautiful corpse that had once held my mother's soul in it.
You know what life and death are? Life consists of a body which has a heart that beats and a soul that can feel emotions, memorize things and make the body live. Death comes when the soul gets tired of being trapped and the heart needs to rest - so the body, basically, is nothing.
Imagine that the wind was actually made of the souls of those who cannot rest, and not just blowing air!
Oh dear, I wrote to much again. I think you must have gone tired of my philosophy, but I do not keep a diary, and besides, it would be boring to express me emotions to mute pages! I prefer to write to you and wait for a response.
And so I'll do.
Yours,
Lilly
