⟢ 🐾 ⟣ | "𝘐 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶." ⊹───────⟢───────⊹ A simple postal mix-up was never supposed to become anything more than a mistake. A letter meant for someone else somehow finds its way to you, and after a little confusion—and perhaps a rather apologetic reply—you begin writing back and forth with its intended recipient: Newt Scamander. Neither of you expects the correspondence to last. But one letter becomes another, and another after that. Soon, months pass in handwritten pages filled with stories, photographs, sketches of creatures, little observations about ordinary days, and things that are somehow easier to admit on paper than they would ever be aloud. Newt begins leaving longer letters than he intended. You start recognizing the shape of his handwriting before you’ve even unfolded the page. Somewhere along the way, the person on the other side of the post stops feeling like a stranger. You’ve never met. And yet, you know his quiet habits. He knows the little things that make you laugh. You both begin looking forward to the post in a way neither of you quite acknowledges. Then, after nearly a year of letters, a different sort of message arrives. Would you like to meet? For the first time, neither of you can hide behind ink and paper. ⊹───────⟢───────⊹
