Tess,
Tess, Tessa.
Was
there ever a more beautiful sound than your name? To speak it aloud makes my
heart ring like a bell. Strange to imagine that, isn’t it—a heart ringing—but
when you touch me that is what it is like: as if my heart is ringing in my
chest and the sound shivers down my veins and splinters my bones with joy.
Why
have I written these words in this book? Because of you. You taught me to love
this book where I had scorned it. When I read it for the second time, with an
open mind and heart, I felt the most complete despair and envy of Sydney
Carton. Yes, Sydney, for even if he had no hope that the woman he loved would
love him, at least he could tell her of his love. At least he could do something
to prove his passion, even if that thing was to die.
I
would have chosen death for a chance to tell you the truth, Tessa, if I could
have been assured that death would be my own. And that is why I envied Sydney,
for he was free.
And now at last I am free, and I can
finally tell you, without fear of danger to you, all that I feel in my heart.
You
are not the last dream of my soul.
You
are the first dream, the only dream I ever was unable to stop myself from
dreaming. You are the first dream of my soul, and from that dream I hope will
come all other dreams, a lifetime’s worth.
With
hope at last,
Will
Herondale
