A madness that ought not to have been allowed to be. Years of scheming, corruption, and unpredictability.
He tore off the top of the envelope, but paused before dragging the letter out. He tried to scan his mind for people that seemed likely to have sent him a letter. And an unsealed letter at that. Even considering it heavily for a moment, he struggled to come to anything conclusive. He supposed that Minsiter Hod might, but then he doubted that Hod would send anyone letters.
Defeated, he pulled it out. The penmanship was refined. Each letter was delicate and artful. It wasn't a hand that Oliver immediately recognized. He didn't receive enough letters from anyone but Skullic for that.
"Dearest Oliver," it read. Merely that mode of introduction spun Oliver for a loop. Who would ever refer to him as 'dearest Oliver?'