Diane,
I enter this mysterious town welcomed by the eyes of strange owls seeping through the trees like city lights.
The wooden town, primitive in its functions, is set to the backdrop of two twin peaks, bursting out from the earth.
The ground is uneven from the roots of the great trees it has given birth to.
Looming above like majestic pillars erecting the sky with their enormous height.

Yes, there is definitely a mystic hidden in the misty air that’s lingering low along the ground.
Covering up the what’s, they why’s and the how’s.
Of this young girl, who walked with fire,
And got burned, ***** and torn.
With her body in a bag, sealed and taped,
Sent down the stream, sailed the lake and drifted to shore.
There’s an answer here somewhere to this masquerade ******.
It’s hidden under layers of false pretences of which I am going to have to use my sixth sense to understand.

No, this case may be more dangerous than I come have dreamed possible.

Ps, I think I have the right to suspect that the owls are not what they seem.
Goodnight, Diane.