Dear Journal,
It’s been a few days since I got my assignment. I’m sorry haven’t written. Why am I apologizing to you, you’re a journal? Why did I write out that questions? I’m going to stop this line of thought before a mage says I’m breaking reality. As you can tell by the drawer you’ve been in, I’m in Goldshire. This is a nice little room in a home on Crystal Lake. The lady who owns it is sweet, she makes a delicious spider pot pie, almost as good as Aunt Theresa’s back in Darkshire. He kids are creepy though. They gather in a circle and stare at the walls.
This post isn’t too eventful, mostly small care packages to people passing through. I can’t even begin to explain the sorting magic they use to determine which mail boxes to drop things off to. There’s been a recent rash of Murloc eggs in the mail though, heavy metal ones to boot. If they made it past the Postal Inspector they must be okay. Tomorrow’s a day off. I think I’m going to go see the mines that Goldshire’s named after. I’ll write again, as soon as I can.
Bea
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