Cut-out magazine letters make a playful demand for the product — chaotic craft energy that reads instantly as a joke, not a threat.
Vertical 4:5 top-down flat-lay photograph on a kraft-paper background under soft, even daylight. The frame is dominated by a ransom-note collage: a playful demand spelled out in mismatched letters cut from glossy magazines — different fonts, sizes and colors, torn white edges, visible glue shine, several letters pasted slightly askew. The note reads across three ragged lines: [DEMAND — e.g. "LEAVE 2 BAGS OF FENNA ON THE PORCH." / "NO SUBSTITUTES." / "NO RAISINS."] Every cut-out letter must be the correct letter in the correct order — the message must be perfectly readable at a glance. Below the note, taped down flat with two strips of aged yellowing tape at careless angles, sits the unopened product: [PRODUCT — e.g. "Fenna, peach gummy candies in a coral pouch"], label facing up and legible. A pair of scissors and a few leftover letter clippings sit at the frame edge for authenticity. In the bottom corner, tiny printed caps: [BRAND LINE — e.g. "FENNA. WORTH NEGOTIATING FOR."] Tone is mischievous, never menacing: no weapons, no threatening language, no dark moody lighting, no watermark, and no clean digital fonts — every letter must look physically cut and pasted.