An antique brass keyhole in a dark wooden door, letters and a peony glimpsed through it

Enter M's world.

Inside M's rooms, a door ajar, sealed letters and peony petals scattered on the floor, light pouring in from a balcony beyond

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Letters from M.

For your eyes only.

Two letters a monthSent to you by post$20 a month

Receive the first letter

Cancel anytime · Arrives discreetly

You don't know M.

Not yet.

But twice a month, M will write to you.

Sometimes with a story.

Sometimes with a question you will carry around for days.

Sometimes M will have noticed something you were certain nobody saw.

It might be an invitation, or an assignment, or a confession M has kept for exactly the right reader.

You find out when you break the seal.

What arrives

Twice every month.

An envelope with your name on it

A letter from M, beautifully produced and made to be kept

The next piece of a world that keeps unfolding

Something worth hiding in a drawer

$20 a month.

Ten dollars a letter. About the price of one glass of wine at a hotel bar, long after midnight.

A folded cream letter half out of its envelope, a sliver of black ink handwriting just visible

Where the letters may take you

Places, objects, moments. You will recognise them when you get there.

You thought no one noticed.

The way you stopped at the door, one hand already on the handle, as if you had forgotten which side of it you meant to be on.

I noticed.

I noticed that you breathed in before you went through, and that you let the breath out much later, somewhere nobody could hear it.

I would like to know what you were deciding.

Don't write it down. Think of it tonight, when the lights are off and there is no one left to be composed for.

Next time, I want you to

M

The rest belongs inside the envelope.

Something waited for you today.

Everything else that reaches you today will glow, buzz and ask for a reply.

This asks for a paper knife and ten quiet minutes.

Your name, on an envelope, in your letterbox. You feel the weight of it before you remember who it is from.

Then you remember.

Some readers leave it on the table until evening, unopened, just to know it is there.

One cream envelope among grey post inside a letterbox
A brass paper knife slipping under the flap of a cream envelope
A hand resting on a folded letter for one second too long
An old wooden drawer, slightly open, with letters tied in a loosened ribbon

Keep them.
Hide them.
Reread them.

Over time the letters become an archive of you and M, in a drawer only you open.

Coming later

The Book of M

A bound home for every letter you choose to keep.

M writes for a particular reader.

She still reads the last pages of a novel slowly, because she doesn't want it to end. She knows the best part of an evening is sometimes the moment before the door opens. She would rather be intrigued than told.

If you want explicit stories on demand, there are faster places for that.
M takes two weeks, on purpose.

A plain unmarked cream envelope on a dark surface

Discretion

Discretion is part of the correspondence.

What arrives through your letterbox looks like a letter,
because that is exactly what it is.

Nothing on the outside tells anyone what is inside.
The mystery stays where it belongs.

An oxblood wax seal engraved with the letter M

The correspondence

Letters from M

2 letters from M every month

Delivered by post

Designed to be kept

Cancel anytime

$20per month
Send me M's letters

M writes all month. The letters leave on the 6th and the 20th, and your first envelope goes out with the next one.

A sealed envelope on a dark desk in very low candlelight

There is already a letter waiting to be written.

The only question is where M should send it.

Receive my first letter

$20/month · two letters each month

Signed,
sealed,
and sent by M.