A door handle jiggles with the insertion of a key. It turns sharp and quick, unlocking and letting a short, red haired woman through.
She kicks the door closed with her feet, and drops a briefcase and a handbag. The woman slips her shoes off and kicks them under a small door side table. She shuffles over to a small couch and collapses into it.
She’d had a particularly exhausting day. It was most of the same boring office work she had become used to, however, today every feeling that she had ever repressed, every bottle she put on the shelf came crashing down all at once.
But she was home now. She could deal with the repercussions of that outburst on Monday, right now all she was concerned about was relaxation.
A letter slips through the little metal slot on her front door.
She wondered why her apartment complex had bothered to put those slots in; there were lockers in the reception area.
Pulling herself off the couch in one slow motion, the woman gets up to get the letter. Picking it up reveals nothing special, an ordinary letter, her address on the front and a return address on the back; though in place of her name it says Red.
The woman thumbs the envelope open and pulls out the letter, it reads:
To the Red Ruler,
Greetings! I apologize for the strange way of contacting you, I was not sure if you would respond to an email for someone you don't know, nor would you answer an unknown phone call.
Anyways, I am writing this to inform you of what you are, and that you are needed. There is a great threat approaching, and I would not dare bring this team together without its leader or should I say, Ruler?
I fully anticipate that you may have reservations responding to an anonymous letter, however, I assure you no one will read our correspondence besides myself and you.
If you are so inclined to respond, please do so quickly as time is of the essence. You can do so using the return address on the back of this letter's envelope.
I eagerly await your potential response.
Sincerely,
The Grey Guide
‘What?’ The woman says aloud. She reads over the letter again and again. It doesn’t tell her what she is, perhaps a thread left hanging to get a response. She knows better than to respond to random letters, what if it was delivered to the wrong person? It’s easy to mess up apartment numbers.
She checks the front of the envelope again. It is definitely her apartment number.
She folds the letter back together and looks around the room. Her eyes land on the small pile of blank paper she keeps for a reason she forgot long ago.