Welcome to the Gloomy Hollows
of Spookinite ValleyEst. Sept. 2012
Letter 26 - December 5th, 1847 [Continued]
Sometimes I dream I am alone in this unwelcoming wilderness. And during these dreams, I see a black coach riding towards me in the twilight. The sun dies behind the mountains, and the hearse nears closer and closer. In other dreams, I hear a whisper reciting oddly familiar rhymes, as if some distant memory has returned from times long-elapsed. They seem to prophesize something terrible. And as the anxiety enwraps me, I fall to the ground, unable to crawl far. After awakening, I forget the words, but the lingering fright leaves me rather restless. I can no longer bear this madness.
Your very own, though weary,
Brinley
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