The letter had seem to had run in with all sorts of elements. The rain had turned made its corners jaundiced; the wax on its forefront had seemingly shattered a quarter of its integrity due to fumbling and bumbling by transporters. A solitary cut of the wax with a knife, and the letter sprung- it’s casing on its last legs- almost as if the letter itself was excited to be finally read.
“Good morning, evening, afternoon, night- at whatever time this letter reaches you, Miss Amelia. You know how these pigeons get; finicky in travel as they are to get the letter on their talons. Before everything- bare with me, I am leading you on- I used to be an interior designer. I found a lot of delight in making homes comfortable, traversable, and welcoming to strangers. I made a lot of mistakes, in the beginning of it. I made atrocious homes; with creaky floorboards and holes for roaches to hide in. Your home does not sound all that different.
Those days are behind me. Today, I am a Spearmaiden-for-hire, among other things. Wherever there is mina, and morally sound principles, I’m bound to show. I take advice from Haulen’or’s disciplined Okarir’tir, Celiasil. I take advice from Chi Monks of Siramenor; Jiangu Vancrute, in particular. I take advice from every little conflict I have been led into. I take advice from the injuries of my betters, and the deaths of my lessers. I think, you could take my advice- as a former interior designer,- on where to look first, and as a Spearmaiden, you could take my service to get rid of your pests for you. I am a party of one, but whoever else is soliciting the work – I am certain, – I can cooperate with.
In the meanwhile, try Siramenor. Hotels there are cheap this time of year. I would not want you to eat through your coffers before you hire me.