I turned the envelope over in my hands. Like the others, it was snow-white and crisp. My name was typed (using what looked like an old-fashioned typewriter) on the front. The back was sealed with wax, the strange symbol imprinted in it. I had found it slipped under the hotel bedroom door after I had wrestled myself from a fitful sleep, fighting with one of the sleep-dragons that clawed at me, attempting to keep me in its grasp. I sighed and opened the envelope, ripping it open and pulling the sheet of paper from it.
"Welcome," it said in its familiar type. "You have arrived and you are now ready to receive your Award for the Lost."
I sighed, again, and put the paper and envelope on the table and went for a shower, hoping the hot jets would revive me. Why had I come? The answer was obvious, of course. I was intrigued. I wanted to know who was sending me these odd letters. And what they wanted from me.
...
