I confess at last my mistress, I confess that I am indeed scared of the dark. My display of confidence and gallantry were naught but lies in the end, oh and how ironic. But please, let me clarify that it is not the darkness in and of itself that I fear, but rather its inherent property of deluding the mind. I am under the impression that the road I walk during the day is not the same as during the night, and this realization troubles me greatly, so much indeed that I will not be able to serve you in this nightly venture any longer. The trees from which I see gentle branches protrude in the day seem petrifying at night. To me they appear as spindly arms, screaming as they rock back and forth in the chilling wind. The rustling of leaves and the occasional wild rabbit that shows itself is lovely enough during the day, but when the same happens at night, when I am unaware of what may hide therein, then it only inspires fear within. Yes, I am a coward, I am aware. The unknown scares me more than anything, and the dark of the night deludes the mind, making known to unknown. Alas, let me reiterate. I am scared of the dark.