A frilly dress and a strange note

As soon as the doors open you know something not right, it wasn’t the fact that your clothes were completely gone. Neither the fact that all of your odds and ends had gone. Not the strange note left before the dress. And neither the dress itself with all its frills and bows. No the thing that really gave it away was the heavy smell of perfume.

The stench of strawberries and vanilla layered heavy upon the dress, but surprisingly the letter smelt like it had been completely doused in several bottles of the stuff.

“What” you say dumbly as you lazily search for long removed clothes, “where the fuck are my clothes” you say in almost a whisper. You check your draws under the wardrobe for something, anything at all. but to your upt most contempt where once sat briefs and short black socks, (left over from high school) all you found were pink lacy panties and long pink stockings.

“Why” you ask half in shock and confusion half in anger.

You then stand back up and look at the letter, still sat there, with the name Maxwell written in bold on the front.

The only thing that comes to mind is ‘should I open it?’