A delivery for Glenn Burnie, no more remarkable than the multitude of correspondence he no doubt received on a daily basis.
It was a nondescript package, a perfectly-squared box of unstained wood. Its design might have been familiar to him, for the local carpenter often took keepsake work when needs for furniture or engraving had diminished. It had the nutty aroma of freshly-carved wood and was no larger than one of his own palms. It came with no missive save for the handwritten tag of parchment bearing his name.
Inside, there was no padding, no letter of praise or admonishment. There were only two round pieces rattling around against the corners of the box, more like useless trinkets tossed into the nearest receptacle than they were objects of any value.
Two glass-carved marbles, one black and the other white.