Night descends upon the city like an old velvet cloak, heavy and daunting. In this world of whispered secrets, where shadows play like mischievous children, the post flies not upon wings but through ethereal hands. The air crackles with secrets untold, each letter barbed with the melancholy of forgotten dreams.
Among the songs of the night, listen closely, for the postal hymns echo through the mist. A letter arrives, marked by the seal of a phantom, and with it comes the scent of aged parchment, mingled with the faintest whiff of lilacs and despair. Dare you send your thoughts adrift on this spectral tide?