text: [Themes: fan fiction, historical, true story]
  
  Back into the hallway stepping, wiping the tears from your face, you hear the sound of a breaking glass, and the fluttering of feathers, coming from your library upstairs. That beast, that demon who has been your tormentor this entire evening, is surely there. Yet despite your fear, even despite your curiosity, you feel compelled to go upstairs. Past the portraits of your pale and pallid ancestors, you tread steadily on the ancient oaken steps.
  
  Yet once you are upstairs, you do not know for sure if you should enter the library at all. Driven by memory, by the recollection of the events all those months ago, you know deep down inside that the library is not where this history ends. Instead, you imagine a light, shining softly, yet steadily behind the door of one of the bedrooms, Lenore's bedroom, the one that you visited not long ago. The one where you saw her, when she was still here.
  
  'Nevermore.'
  
  The voice startles you, clear as water, yet creaking like ice. Appearing out of nowhere, it sounded like it was addressing you. Yet, as you look around you, all you can see is the eternal dance of dust and shadows, here in the darkness of the hallway. You gaze wanders back to the closed doors of your library behind you. A cold wind blows through the cracks, chilling your very being.
  
  A sliver of ice lodges itself in your spine as you contemplate your actions. In front of you, Lenore's bedroom looms, dark and forbidding like the rest of your house, yet a feeling deep inside of your heart urges you to go there; however, behind you, your library lies, your sacred sanctum where you have spent most of the past few months, now probably defiled by that infernal winged demon. Doubt besets you once more, but eventually, you decide to go to...
  
  > The bedroom.
  Softly, almost solemnly, you open the door to Lenore's bedroom. Though you expected it to be dark and desolate, like the rest of the house, you find it just as in your memories. Those you'd rather not relive. Lit by the roaring fire in the fireplace, you look at an intimate setting. A young woman, drowning in a sea of pillows and blankets, lies palely in a bed, beads of sweat moisten her brow. Her hand, shaking, pallid, clutches that of your younger you. With a soft voice, somewhere between silence and a whisper, she addresses you: 'Promise me this, promise me you won't forget. I love you... I love you.'
  
  The younger you starts to sob more intensely. His hand is resting in front of his face, sparing Lenore the sight of his tears. Shaky, laced with utter despair, your voice is almost lost in the noise of the fire behind you: 'I... I promise Lenore. How could I ever forget you. I promise with all my heart. Please... Please, I beg you, please don't leave me here.'
  
  A soft smile appears on the face of Lenore. Despite her increasingly laboured breathing, she replies you with a kind, warm voice: 'I don't think that is for either you or me to decide at this point anymore. I'm afraid you'll have to let me go now.'
  
  She falls silent, but a heart-wrenching wail escapes from your ghostly apparition, still clutching the pale, lifeless hand of Lenore. Tears stain the wooden floor of the bedroom.
  
  The fire dies, the room darkens, and your younger self disappears. Lenore, however, stays behind. With steady movements, she steps out of bed, and walks towards you. Though the room is dark, and the Winter's moon is clouded by snow, you can still see her clearly, illuminated by a soft, yet pallid light that seems to emanate from her. The strain of sickness has disappeared from her features, and she looks as beautiful as she was during her life, yet a ghostly pallor seems to dwell beneath her beauty. A soft smile lies on her lips as the touches your cheek with her soft, warm hand.
  
  'My love, why are you still in mourning? So long a time has passed, the seasons have shifted, Spring has gone, and I with it. Is this really how you want to remember me? As the pale ghost, the shadow of death that haunts you wherever you roam? I am at peace, and I have been for quite a while now, yet you are still troubled.'
  
  You start to cry. Desperately, you cling to Lenore's hand. 'How can I ever get over you? You are the light of my life. Death has cheated us, time has cheated us. You were still so very young, so very full of vigour and life. How can I ever get over burying you?'
  
  'Because I ask you to. We were still so very, very young, you still are, but we are not to decide when our time comes. I would have wanted nothing more dearly than more time with you, but it was not our fate. Yet why should my death mean the end of your life? Do you really want to spend the rest of your time in your library, separating yourself from the rest of the world, desperately trying to forget me? Cursing the Fates for tearing us apart? My dearest, it is time to let go. Time will move on, seasons will move, and Spring will come once more. Go, be happy, live your life. In time, we will see each other again.'
  
  'Lenore...'
  
  > Epilogue
  You wake up with a shock. Blinking, banishing the sleep from your eyes, you look around. You find yourself in your library, the pale light of the morning's sun creeping in through the gaps in the windows' shutters. Next to you, on the ground, is the tome that you were reading last night. The embers in the hearth have long since died.
  
  You throw open the shutters in front of the windows, and the light floods in. Covered by a thick blanket of snow, your garden, the fields, and the village in the distance, seem quiet and peaceful in the pale Winter's light. A dove flies off from a nearby tree, startled by your sudden appearance.
  
  Gazing at the idyllic picture in front of you, you remember the vivid dream you had last night. Lenore. The name still stirs the gaping hole in your heart, yet you feel the loss to be more bearable than ever. You shake your head softly, still not able to believe that it was all just a dream.
  
  Somewhere in the distance, a church bell tolls, and you remember that you should probably eat something. As you turn and walk out of the library, you pass the portrait of Lenore, smiling softly as you walk away. With a soft, sad smile of your own on your lips, you pull the doors of the library shut behind you.