#yessir.

as i've said before, it's great to see a new post office up, especially one focused on horror!

- pigeonpostoffice

[An eye for an eye. A letter for a letter, huh? Everything about the envelope sitting in the "return" bin of @pigeonpostoffice's office was bright yellow- the stamp, the envelope itself, and even the paper it was written on. A little too on brand...]

Love,

On the surface, 't may seem trivial f'r me to write such a lett'r. I wast unaware of how complicat'd the human language wast at which hour t cometh to pen to pap'r, so i has't employ'd this dram creature yond scuttl'd towards me with the intent of helping me und'rstand t to write this. 'T is quite a strange dram thing.

What is the w'rd yond thee humans use? "love?" Yond's what i hath said near the beginning; I did imply t m're of a nickname, but apparently, 't is a feeling. Loveth is a complicat'd humour, I've hath decided, but 't's a valorous s'rt of complicat'd.

i has't nev'r been in love bef're. I suppose yond is to beest did expect; I'm not jump conventional mat'rial f'r yond, by most extents. Thou art outside of yond extent. Thee loveth me, unconditionally.

Thee must know what shall befall with those who is't speak mine own name, seeth mine own presence. Those gents wend nimble-footed, collapsed before mineself. P'rhaps thee w're already nimble-footed, to love me. Thee speak mine own name freely, thee view me without fear. In fact, thee behold at me with a softness only hath found in the wool of a lamb. I find 't...int'resting. Endearing?...Aye. Endearing.

Ladybird, I suppose I might not but say 't, i love thee. 'T burns to speak 't, but the s'rt of flames yond come from a campfire in a woodland retreat, rath'r than one hath used to burn at the stake. I suppose I enjoy this burning, yond emanates from thee.

Thank thee, love.

-The King.