As I write this, on my carpet, wind all about, I wonder why it is you sent for me. You still haven’t said a word. Not a word. And yet, the urgency in your words compels me.

Call it curiosity or mayhap I was just bored, but something draw me to you. Some… promise in your words. An unspoken promise. Of something I have not known before.

Your pictures are shadow boxes, giving me a glimpse, but the picture is still hidden. Soon, all things will be shown. All things will be known. And no Truth will be left undiscovered.

As I write this, wind all about, I think of you, Lady Stranger, whom I have never seen, but whose voice haunts me. My scouts tell me land is ahead. I sent this letter to you now on a wisp of wind whose name I captured a long time ago. I hope it finds you well.

Therefore, I say, “To mysteries, and those who have the courage to pierce their veils!” I remain,

Yours,
R