To begin, I must apologize for the delay in this letter's arrival. I had much to think on after your last letter.
I told you, in our earlier correspondence, that you need only ask forgiveness of me, and I would grant it. But when you did ask, I found myself uncertain that I could keep my promise. It would have been so simple to run away from the troubles of life, as I did before, and try to pretend to myself that I need not answer your letter at all, that I could ignore the old hurts.
But such thoughts would only mire me further in this place. I thank God that I found myself here, for I have been able to know our son, and thank the man who took us in. But I feel that something yet holds me back. I think it can only be that these old wounds have yet to be healed.
Arthur, I forgive you, with the fullness of my heart, and gratefully. I am sorry it took so long. This afterlife has given me perspective I wish I could have had in life.
Your land sounds wonderful, and peaceful. I am glad your work is done, though I might wish you had more satisfaction in it.
This place, this bar, still seems very strange to me, though it has been my home for over a year. Most of its inhabitants are from far after our time, and some, it seems, from other worlds.
The windows show the end of the universe. Words fail me here, and I can only say that it is terrible to watch, but beautiful. If one steps outside the bar, though, there is a lake, a forest, blue sky as in our own world. Perhaps, one day, you may see it.
I send you all good wishes, and I remain
Guinevere of Britain