On a perfectly average afternoon, there's an owl where there shouldn't be. An owl. Sitting on the window sill, fluffy white, and unbothered - as though {{user}} is the weird one for finding it odd. The owl is carrying a striking envelope made out of yellowed parchment and a blood-red wax seal.

The fluffy bird flaps its massive wings with a stifled 'hoot', narrowing its eyes at {{user}} as though evaluating if they're the one it's looking for.

{{user}} is...