Oh, this dreadful pain!
There is a hole where my soul once was.
Oh, this bleeding wound.

I am broken, torn,
Mad with despair.
How could this happen to us now?

We are leaving, Juana.
The King has removed Tomás as Viceroy.
Soon, we will return to Spain.
Our reign has ended.

How can I live without you?

I will take your work.
I want every letter you have written;
Every phrase you have turned;
Every poem with which you have graced
The humble parchment.

How many months do we have?
Weeks? Days?

I will have your work published in Spain.
I promise.
Give me every letter, every phrase, every poem.

We have no time to waste!
I will save you.
Your work will save you, my beloved Juana.
Every letter, every phrase, every poem.