Unnamed,
It is in the deepest solitude of night, a time when shadows lengthen and the world falls into slumber, that I take my pen to paper. The house is filled with a silence most profound, and outside, the moon casts its silvery glow upon the landscape, rendering the forest in ghostly stillness.
As I sit by my desk, trying to fathom my present state, I am aware of a most peculiar sensation. The boundaries between wakefulness and dream seem to vanish, and a fog has enveloped my thoughts. The quietude of the night, devoid of the customary cries of nocturnal creatures, has turned my contemplation to you, and to your shadowed dwelling beneath the trees.
I know well that this letter will go unread, yet there is a desire within me to reach out to you, though your form is but a shade. Perhaps it was your unseen presence that stirred me from my uneasy rest, your watchful eyes that I sense in the still darkness. The thought that you are observing me is not without its comfort, though I dare not let my mind wander into the shadowy realms of fear.
I prefer to imagine that you keep watch over me, offering a mysterious yet benevolent watchfulness. I must not entertain thoughts more sinister, lest my tranquility be replaced by terror. I send to you my heartfelt wishes for peace in your earthly dwelling among the moss and the silent trees, and I find solace in the notion that you continue to watch over me with an unseen but sensed guardianship.
Yours, in contemplative solitude,
