An envelope gets slipped beneath the door one day, penned in thin but exceptionally neat cursive and scented with a perfume that smells vaguely citrus-y and basil. Opening up the envelope reveals plain white letter paper (the owner couldn’t find anything fancier at the moment) with the letterhead from a local hotel, as well as a long, rambling, but ultimately heartfelt letter:
To L'Agence du Faucon,
Ultimately, I am writing to you of my first love, and my first mistake. I am looking for a man—a soul like no other, wonderfully tall and broad, with blue eyes and blond hair. He has a habit of talking to himself, and enjoys writing messages on a large metal box (some sort of communication device the people here all like to use).
We met at a café, where he charmed me with his voice and strength. Unfortunately, our conversation was cut short when I teased him a little too hard. I have not been able to find him since. He is currently divorced and carries a Bachelor’s degree, of which he is very proud of.
I am aiming to be discreet, but I will pass on two things of note: that he is much taller than he appears, and possesses a set of excellent teeth.
You may reach me with any details at the address enclosed, or via my personal number at ##############.
With regards,
ꫀ.ᥴ.ꪖ. ꠸ꪜ