You certainly hadn't expected THIS much mail. When that owl, Rose, requested that you help deliver a few letters for her, you thought you'd get only a small bag: the remainder of what her tiny wings had refused to carry. A muffled growl of contempt escapes you as you imagine that detestable owl, sipping some hot cocoa somewhere nice and warm, as you endure the aftermath of her demands. You slump over into the snow, oblivious to the cold due to your extreme fatigue. The letters spill out over the rocky blanket of snow, some of the thinner, more delicate envelopes betraying their contents. You glance at the open letters. You know better than to snoop, but your anger towards Rose and your burning curiosity say otherwise. You lunge for them, and all sense of the outside world begins to ebb away...
