Dawn and Dusk

My Dearest Heathcliff,

I will say this once and I will not say it again. Stay away from my wife.

Don’t think I don’t see through your cute little facade, you wretched cur. I know very well what you are. You are a vulture. You prey on the weak in order to advance your own twisted goals. You took my sister from me in her greatest moment of weakness. Why? We both know you don’t love her. She’s nothing more than a tool to you. A tool of revenge. Well, you resent me for “taking” Catherine from you, you have made that incredibly clear. You took my sister to spite me, to show that a feral dog like yourself could do whatever he wanted to the proper gentlemen and women of this world and thus took my only sister from me. She had so much potential. She deserved so much better than you, but when you saw your opportunity, identified the weakest link, you closed in for the kill. Worse still, you used your marriage to my sister as a tool for revenge against the only person that truly loves you in this world: Catherine. She has been with you your whole life, advocated for you when no one else would, and has welcomed you with open arms after every egregious act you have committed. Yet here you are, entering a loveless marriage with her sister in law, causing her to contract a fever that gave her a good look at the grim reaper. And for what? In the hopes that we will not yield a heir to Thrushcross Grange, and you will end up with the Linton fortune? Know this, I will never, in ten thousand fortnights, allow your greedy claws to sink into my family’s fortune. We will have an heir, believe me. And all your misery will have been for nothing.

Listen here, I am not one to be fooled by my own naivety. Catherine doesn’t love me. She loves you. You, the little wolf boy who puts on a dogs face. You, her own brother. You, her sole tormentor. Yes, it is hard to swallow, but it is blatantly obvious. You know this, and arrive at my home every day to wave it in front of my face. You mock me in my very own home by your very presence, and upon your departure my wife enters fits of rage and illness, all on account of you. You tempt her, nay torment her, all the while truly believing you love her despite doing only whats best for you at every single point in your wretched life. Face it Heathcliff, you will never achieve what you desire. Even if you take Thrushcross Grange, even if you acquire all the wealth in England, you will never have Catherine. She’s mine until her dying breath. You know, I imagine her last word will be your name. Pity you won’t be there to hear it.

If I see you again anywhere near my wife I will not hesitate to put you down like the rabid dog you are. I won’t make it quick. Believe me.

Ciao,

Edgar Linton