My dear papa,
The wedding's over. It's done. It didn't all go exactly like I'd imagined as a little girl, but, well, you always taught me to make the most of what I've got. We're traveling now, so I'll send this letter as soon as we arrive.
I'll start with what I'm sure interests you the most - financial matters. As I'm sure you've noticed, a few crowns have gone missing from your lockbox, the cupboard's a couple silver plates lighter, and your jewelry box isn't near as full as it once was. I took it. As my dowry. No doubt much less than you'd have given, had I but found myself a "worthy partner," but, tough, that's life.
Kurt – or, as you like to call him, "that good-for-nothing bare-arsed lazybones" - is now my husband. And your daughter's precious purity, which you cared about more than her feelings, tears or pleadings - well, it's only a memory now.
We'll soon arrive at our destination. Naturally, I won't tell you where exactly that is - just in case you get it in your head to come visit. Wherever it is, know your silver will be enough to set up a nice home. That's important - because I'm expecting a child. Are you glad? I doubt it. You always said poor matches only produce mutts and scoundrels. So it's a good thing you'll never have to see this one.
Your little girl,