A blood-red envelope lands on my desk along with the day’s mail. THE blood-red envelope. The same type of envelope, made of rough handmade paper. Just like it was years ago. You might remember me writing about it last year.
I was not expecting the letter. The envelope was made of blood-red recycled paper, and my name was scrawled in capitals with a black sketch-pen. No stamp, no postmark. Somebody had just walked up and placed the envelope there.
The IHM Chronicles Series
On My Nightstand
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