Dearest Miss Holbrook,

I have not received word confirming our meeting this coming Monday. Nevertheless, I am sure you will be delighted to host me. I have been thinking of topics we might discuss. So much has happened since I last saw you. I still wish to tell you all about the confusion at the Ballantyne. I also want to hear all about your trip. I was told you went to Manchester. How interesting. I hope the trip went well. 

Perhaps we should just drop all pretenses. I grow tired of this game. Let me be direct with you, my darling girl.

Tell me, truly, would you prefer death come slowly or all at once. I myself have never considered how I might die—but then I was never foolish enough to put myself in a situation where I could die. Unlike you, my lovely, foolishly human girl, I am immortal. You cannot kill me, I would suggest you abandon any thoughts of even trying. Though I cannot die, I will find great pleasure in killing you. Stop with the lies and the coy fluttering lashes.

The last time someone tried to deceive me, they ended up in canning jars. That's a jolly good story. Perhaps have Leviathan tell it to you next time he visits. Or perhaps I'll tell it to you during our tea this Monday?

If you run, I will find you.