' Dear Elisabeth, I am writing this letter with hope it will reach you in Paris so that you don't wait for my return and could start your life anew, with someone better. I don't know where to start, my thoughts are dark and hopeless. We have been marching through this hellish land, this icy desert, for many days, starving and freezing to death. It's so cold! I've never felt such cold, it pierces my body and tears my soul. After the battle of that accursed Krasnoi, we were cut off and separated from the main army during a blizzard. Since then we have been plagued not only by ferocious Cossacks but by some demonic creatures. Demons of this land, punishing us for our conceit and arrogance. At first we thought it was a pack of hungry wolves, or a bear, but it was something else… something dark, something unnatural! Something I can't explain or comperhand with my mind. They appear out of nowhere, emerging from the blizzard, tearing us apart one by one, eating us alive! These demons, these beasts! We should never invade this God-forsaken land. At dawn one of the Polish lancers will try to break through and reach our main army, he will take this letter. I hear a howling, they're coming. I envy those of my comrades who met a peaceful death in the embrace of the frost. Please forgive me and remember me fondly. Your Pierre. November 21th, 1812. '
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