March 03rd, 1800

"My dear, my beloved.

It is in great pain and agony that I write to you.

I have gathered all of my remaining strength, all of my force of will, to put my pen to paper and  explain my current situation to you.

My energy is fleeting. My hands do not respond as easily to my commands as they once did. My time on earth is running out, and I'm in a hurry because I need speak to you, one last time. This is why I apologize in advance for the lack of embellishment in my prose, the uneasy lines of my calligraphy, and I warn you, in readiness, that this letter will be dull and wary.

The words of the soldier that had previously written to you are worn out, tired, and bleak... Not only because of his lack of vigor, but also because of all of the tragic events that he has witnessed in the last forty-two hours.

I cannot find a way to lighten the tone of what I'm about to tell you, as I cannot find a way to remove the bitterness from my lips, before I tell you my story. Which means my frustration will inevitably spill onto this paper, I'm sorry.

But this is what war does best, I believe; it takes away every single drop of beauty from the wonderful world that surrounds us and corrupts it. The sweet honey of joy, fraternity, tolerance and respect becomes the sour vinegar of grief, hatred, prejudice and indifference. What was pretty becomes ugly. What was precious becomes scarring. What was glorious becomes shameful. And by the end of it, it's impossible to find ways to describe reality without sounding defeatist, hopeless, and angry.

I hope you understand then, the grief and the rage that poison me. 

First, I must say that I love you.

I love you, adore you, desire you. I long for your company, as I long for your delicate hands running through my hair, as I long for your smile, as I long for the life that we used to have once upon a time, when existence was free of strife, and rage, and blood... I want you, need you, crave you.

Then, I must break your heart: I am dying.

But the thought of death is lovely. It's the thought of never seeing you again what haunts me. So, if I go, I leave you with these words of truth, so you do not go through the rest of your life wondering whose name I said last, or how my end came to be.

I was marching through Les Oiseaux, next to major general Laupin, when the enemy attacked our corps from behind. More specifically, they were after his division —which was considerably bigger than the rest, and was equipped with better weapons than most—.

We had orders from Marshal Obermann to take our troops safely to Auprax, where we would rest and restock before heading south again, to keep fighting against the royalists and their allies. But this surprise offensive foiled our plans, and made me understand pretty quickly, with its cacophony of exploding cannonballs, that the direction of this war was going to be set by my actions, and my actions alone.

So I decided to do the unthinkable, and in a moment of desperation, sent most of my soldiers away to protect Laupin as he fled, and confronted the enemy with only the eldest of them.

I could not march towards them alongside literal children. I could not lead them to a conflict which result I knew for certain would only be death. I could not condemn his daughter to grow up without a father either, as I could not pull him away from his loving wife's side. So I stayed, and he left.

And we, the eldest soldiers, rode alone into the fight.

My idea, as I've said, was to buy Laupin time. Our troops and him had to escape this ambush unscathed, because Auprax was waiting for their arrival. And their families were waiting for their return.

Thankfully my strategy of diversion worked. And I'm told that he did arrive there eventually, safe and sound. However, as I had previously mentioned, the ending of this story was unavoidable. Most of my fellow soldiers died in service, and some, like myself, were gravely wounded in the bloodshed.

My horse and I were shot to the ground as we broke into the enemy's front line. But sadly, the majority of my men were struck by bullets before they could even reach it.

I do not remember how many hours or days we spent agonizing in the mud, half-dead, half-alive, but eventually, marshal Breton and his legion found us. Like an angel sent from the heavens, he saved us. We received immediate care and attention, and were sent to the nearest hospital around, set in the city of La Roche, from where I'm currently writing this letter.

Laupin must think for sure that I'm already dead. And when you see him again, don't blame him for leaving me behind, please. I chose to save him. I chose to protect him. He has a wife and a daughter. I could not let my dear friend die knowing this.

My love, I have lost my left eye, and my torso won't stop bleeding. I have a terrible fever, and I am terrified of breaking the promise I made you before I left. I want to come home, more than anything in this world. I want to hold you in my arms one last time, and whisper closely in your ear all of the feelings that I have kept secret for a lifetime.

These last years have been a living nightmare, and I'm afraid that, in the end, you were right. Maybe it wasn't worth it, to give up my job as your palace's gardener and throw myself headfirst into my current career.

Don't misunderstand me, please. I know that financially, I am doing far better than before. I am finally able to say I'm the man you deserve to have by your side. I have the fortune and the honor needed to be the husband you deserve. But, if I am to die soon... I must admit I would regret my choices.

I'd rather be your faithful poor lover forever and live, than to let go of my life like this...

You know I didn't become a general only for fame and glory. I did it so we could have a future. I did it so you wouldn't have to escape from your hellish marriage alongside a broke, nameless, good-for-nothing man. I did it so I could be your hero, even when you begged me not to go. I did all of this, so I could help you. So I could be with you, freely. 

If, after this unfortunate odyssey I am not to return home... It will have all been in vain. And my spirit will cry out in regret.

I wanted you to know all of this from my own pen and ink. I owe you at least a decent goodbye, and a heartfelt apology. I owed you one last letter, to prove how much I love you. 

So goodbye, my darling.

I believe my flame is flickering and soon, you'll be able to see the smoke rise. But, right before that happens, please know that it burned bright, only for your eyes to see.

I love you.

Yours truly and forever, General Francis Alencar Forestier"