“Val,
       Do you know how much crap Solomon put me through to write this? Do you know how hard it is to learn how to write and read English, especially with that grumpy sod for a teacher? Learning Necromancy is all well and good, yes, but wait until he tries to teach you how to spell “rhododendron”, it’s fucking ridiculous. But on the bright side, for every word I learned to spell, he taught me how to swear. So at least it sort of sounds like me writing this.

I know we’re about to go through some dangerous shit, Val. And I know that it’s going to suck for you; it’s going to suck for everyone but you most of all. All this Darquesse shit you’re going to have to face…you realise we’re all going to be with you during it, right? Me, Skulduggery, everyone, we’re all going to fight this with you.

But I’m not writing this to reassure you that everything’s going to be okay. I’m writing this for the opposite; obviously, if you’ve found it, you’ve been going through my shit which means that I died in my overly-valiant efforts to help you. And not going to lie…I’m pissed off. I didn’t want to die. I’m still young and gorgeous and will leave way too many broken hearts behind and I don’t belong in the ground just yet. I hope that makes you feel terrible. You should have saved me, you absolute cow.

The fact is, I’m dead, you’re probably feeling a little down about it, so I needed to write this to you to tell you that it’s actually kind of okay. I’m way past caring now. If you’re reading this, then you saved the world, you survived, and you won. And I need to let you know that I’m proud of you. You’ve done so well, you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty and you deserve a rest. I’m serious, just…take a break or something. Fly to Australia, go visit my family, they will give you some right royal treatment if that’s what you need. Actually, it’s what I’m asking. Val, I don’t want some random Sanctuary Agent to tell them I’m gone. I need it to be someone I know, someone I love, I need it to be you. Please tell my baba I’m gone.

Under the right bedside table is a drawer with a tin box in it, the combo is 6-2-2-4. There’s about five thousand euros in it, with some other stuff; it’s yours. I wouldn’t ask you to go to the other side of the world on your own dime, even with your uncle’s money. I’m so sorry to ask it of you, but even when I’m gone, I need to think about my family.

There are a few other letters tucked up here, I would really appreciate it if you got them to who they needed to go to. (Solomon has his own keys, so his letter may be missing but that’s okay.) You know the rug in the living room you said you liked? Have it, it’s yours, my mama made it and I don’t exactly want it burned or thrown in a dumpster. I’m sorry I can’t leave you much, I don’t really have so much, but I wanted you to have enough to remember me by.

I won’t be there to kick your ass into gear any more, kiddo, you’re going to have to do it on your own. Have a good life, bring me flowers, I love you.

Always yours,
                       Moira. X”