Clara's letter to Mickey:

Dearest Mr. Gallego,

If you are reading this, it means I kicked the dust before I had the chance to speak with you in person (which is a real shame, because I'm sure gray hair looked lovely on me.) I suppose I want to say that I am sorry, which is something I only realized after years of reflection. When we met, I was young and fickle and desperate to pretend that I was neither. I could not articulate my feelings or my thoughts properly, and for that reason I hurt you and others. Now in my elder wisdom, and assuming you would still want to hear any of this, this is what I would have said;

Emily Brontë once said "I am Heathcliff. He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being" but that never spoke to me. I am not meant to be kept or changed or merged into one. Even for you, when you are so kind and so patient and so damn good. I cannot be contained for anyone. Rather, a quote that speaks to me quite truly comes from Jane Austen, and it goes; "What are men to rocks and mountains?" There are mountains to see and books to read and battles to fight, all of which I cannot do while making a stew for my husband or rocking a baby on my hip. It is not in my nature to do both nor is it in my nature to give in. I am not Heathcliff. I am not Hubert. I am not Mickey.

I am simply Clara.

In my latter years I have spent many nights dreaming of everyone, but most often of you. Something you may not know about me is that I am a romantic, but a romantic that was cursed in a time of ownership rather than partnership. I am not to be owned. Perhaps if we had been transported two hundred years in the future, to some idyllic time where I could love you and be free, we may have worked. Perhaps we would not have. Fate simply was never on our side and thus, we will never know.

You, Mr. Gallego, you deserve the very best. I sincerely hope you find a woman who brings you to your knees and takes your breath away and makes you forget my name. I hope you find a woman who wakes to you every morning and thinks "I am Mickey."

One of the last things you asked me was if I loved you, and the answer truly is yes. That is why I've begun to pray, something I never did before. I pray for a world where you do not waste a spare thought on me, and you are greeted each morning by a pretty girl and a litter of children if that is what pleases you.

I fear this letter is becoming too long, but I also fear that when I set down my pen, it will be like saying the final goodbye. I do hope you do not hate me too much.

With this letter I send a century's worth of love and goodbyes,

Mrs. Clara Donovan

Maverick's letter to Alvaro:

Dear Alvaro,

I'm writing to you, although I do not know what to say. For me, it has been a lifetime since I last saw your face. When you read this, it will probably only have been a few days. I wish I were better with words, but that was always Clara's strong suit. I should have asked for her help when I had the chance.

I do not know what the future holds, or what the climate is like in your times, but I hope things are easier for you. I often think back to the men we saw in the forest of Alaque, the moment that was shared between all of us. Throughout history, men like you and I have had to hide. I hope that you get to see a day where that is not the case.

I would like it to be known that you changed me, irrevocably. If it were not for you, I would have returned to my time and continued working with my father as if Alaque was nothing more than a dream. I could not do that. I could not go on living so blandly when I knew all the excitement that life had to offer. You showed me that excitement, Alvaro.

I know it will be hard for you, because it has been hard for me. It is scary to return and know that you cannot fight against time. I assume that I will be long gone by the time you are reading this, but I hope that does not hurt you. I have lived, and I have been happy, and I wish you the same, as well.

Still, through it all, I know I would have been even happier with you.

You were my first love, and now as an old man, I have to say you were the only love that ever mattered. How lucky I am, to be able to sit here and write these words to the first person I ever loved, and how lucky are you to read them while the love is still fresh. I imagine you will not feel lucky, and at times I do not either, but we are. I would consider myself lucky just for seeing your face.

Clara and I used to spend a lot of time talking about our last day in Alaque. She thought that it was beautiful, sort of, that Hubert's wife had caused everything simply because she couldn't be without him. I think it was foolish, and it caused a lot of people pain. Still, it brought me you, so I suppose that beauty and pain are connected. Flo seems to think so, at least.

I'm not sure who will deliver this message to you, but I am certain that it will arrive. Perhaps I cannot alter time or stay as an unwanted spectre, floating miserably on Earth until I find you, but I can assure that you get these words and that you have enough money to live whatever life you please.

If there is something after this life, I'm sure you and I will find one another.

With all of my love,

Maverick