My dearest Cecily,
I slept with your cross in my hand this market weekend. It has been a year, a full year since I let you out of my sight. If He, in His infinite mercy, quoniam in aeternum misericordia eius, brings you back to me, I will not let you from it so simply again.
Your ghosts are back and walking again - brother and Sire both - and though I'd like to say it was a pleasure to see both, in truth I only enjoyed the company of your brother. Your Sire...polite, but immediately involved in some business which I do not know the nature of. We will talk, she and I. The rest of it - magi and treaties and fae and the threat of imminent demise ever looming at our doorstep - can wait until you are home and rested.
Wake soon, best beloved, and come home to me.