Imagine, you hold an envelope. You open it and take out a Christmas card. It is large, rectangular, of the usual sort, but on its cover is a painted landscape. It is a beautiful and peaceful scene on a cold, deep, clear midwinter night. Snow-covered foothills roll through the middle, bright white flecked with brown. Behind them, an abundance of mountain peaks, tree-covered spires and rocky crags stretch to the horizon. Below lies a sleepy village. Its streets are empty, at peace. Warm firelight shines from a few windows, smoke curls from chimneys. The village lies on the banks of great river, dark and cold, the deepest blue you can imagine. Above all, a single star shines far brighter than the rest.
Out falls a neatly folded letter. You open it, and read: