While I make no claim to those high peaks conquered by Lovecraft, I have not—as is considered modern—foregone correspondence entirely in favour of texts and apps. And it is fortunate I have not, for otherwise I might not have received tidings anent a strange and unusual thing.
This weekend past, I received a letter from one Victoria C—. Unlike the brief notes of those children of the modern age, scrawled upon lined paper in sterile ballpoint and thrust ill-folded in a penny envelope, this was folded with care as the pure and strong ancestors of our great nation folded their letters and then sealed with a silver raven.
And, lest you slip into the mistake of thinking it so, such is not pretension or excess. As any with wit of understanding need no lesson to reveal, the path shapes the walker; thus, the unwrapping of layers prepares the mind to see beyond mere surface.
Sight of the letter shall surely suffice for common purpose, but for those wishing a more modern rendering the contents might also be found here, along with sundry other glimpses that might benefit those of a certain taste.
As ever, it is gratifying to be so notable as to attract correspondence. All that remains is to determine fully whether it be insight or temptation.