(Written in very shaky handwriting)
To: Anna
Dear Lassie,
I'm not really sure if I should be writing this, but I'm going to die, soon. By the time you get this, I'll probably *be* dead. So what the hell.
I think I love you, lass. Or, did love you, I guess, since I'll be dead when you read this. I'm not really sure which is right. I guess I might still love you, wherever I end up.
I know you never really knew me at all. It wasn't like I had much of a chance to take you out for a drink or whatever. But you must have known, being in my head and all, that it was... well, I liked you in my head, I guess. I can't really say why, it just... damn. I liked it. Perhaps a bit more that I should have.
Ah, hell. I've probably said too much about that. Should be writing this anyway.
Anyway, I just... I thought you should know, lass, that if I ever come back, somehow, I'd like to take you out for a drink, take you to my rooms, and let you dig around in my head while I'm in your...
I should stop writing this, shouldn't I?
-Ragnarr
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