Book One: Selfish Fate

The apartment window was always open just enough for a small bird to wriggle through. No matter the weather, the man kept the glass propped slightly. He said it was better than to be disturbed by any annoying pecking that would unquestionably come without an open invitation, but maybe that was a lie. He wasn’t sure, himself. Someone might say that the opposite of expectation was surprise, but the man didn’t seem to experience either, taking life as it came with no rattling.
 
That day the bird would come, and although rain fell, it wouldn’t be a deterrent for any visitation. It was then that what was expected came as a surprise when, instead of the sudden flapping of wings, a paper could be heard brushing the floor. It was mostly dry, with only small wet stains at the corners of what the man could now tell was an envelope. No stamp. No address. But why would it carry with it any identification? No expectation. No surprise.
 
There was no reason to pace leisurely while reading, relax into a lean, or sit… no reason to interact with anything in the world beyond what was necessary, and nothing was necessary but the contents of the letter. 
The man found some minute humor in the first line, an addendum which assured him that any formality in the letter would be on account of the writer and not the deliverer. That source of formality should moot upon the relation of–
 
And then a scribble where the author must have grown tired of instruction.
 
“With as much formality or informality as pleases the recipient of this letter, you are invited to celebrate the eighteenth birthday of Enlilith Raleigh. We are aware that distance will be a consideration, but hope that sufficient time has been allotted to make arrangements if you will attend. No amount of gratitude can suffice for your place in our lives, and we would love to meet you in person. Of course, our home is your home, and we would be honored if you would spend time with our family beyond the festivities. Details to follow. No pressure.
 
Sincerely,
 
–Drys
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P.s. Svale insists that there is pressure for you to visit, and if I do not write so, he will tear the paper and make me begin anew.”