Chatterbox: Pudding's Place

The Poet's House 

~~~ 

The sky was grey. Not gray, but grey. It was the formal sort of grey, like the grey silk in tuxedos. It seemed about to rain, just nearly, but yet there was no sign of the coming shower. The air was chilly, and the only thing in the sky other than heavy grey clouds was a lone crow.

The crow was an unusual crow. Unlike the many flaneur crows of the city, idling about with no particular destination or purpose, this crow had a mission.

A single envelope, tea-stained with elegance, fluttered down from the crow’s feet. It dropped into your hands.

The crow suddenly stopped, and wheeled around. It disappeared into the grey clouds.

You looked curiously at the envelope. The wax seal shimmered an iridescent silver, as if unsure of itself. A swan was imprinted faintly into it.

Carefully, you pried open the envelope, taking care to preserve the seal, and took out a sheaf of paper.

Dear Mme/M,

You are cordially invited to the poet’s house. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, to travel hundreds of years back in time, and step into the oldest building in London, dating back to the fae era. 

All facilities will be provided, of course, but if you wish, you may pack choice items in a bag or suitcase. Entry is free, however, we ask that you do not bring guests. Pets, weapons, and food items are allowed.

In three days time, the black carriage will be there. Do not be late.

Sincerely,

    The Poet

The letter was rather unusual, no doubt, but you saved it anyway, tucked into a back pocket somewhere, just in case it proved to be truthful.

~~~

Name:

Luggage:

Pronouns:

Three words to describe you:

Other:

~~~

Feel free to ask questions, feel free to bring weapons, feel free to guess me.

Ciao,

    The Poet