An Invitation
You're alone when it arrives. There's a shift in the air, a sense of disorientation, like a puzzle piece dropped out of the universe and you're left to stare at the empty void behind it, and there's a letter in your hand. Swirling silver ink spells out your name on a lilac envelope. A wax seal bearing the image of a teacup holds the paper closed.
You break the seal, and the puzzle piece falls back into place. Only, you fall away instead.
The forest in which you find yourself, standing on the path, dressed in the nicest clothes you own and groomed as well as you are personally capable, is simply enchanting. You may not believe in fate, miricales, or magic, but the woods around you seem to be somehow woven of all three.
The path on which you stand winds around a bend, but you can hear the clinking of glass and the gentle scrape of silver on porclean, along with a sound like tinkling bells as though to imitate idle conversation.
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