After a crucial loss to the talented detective Edogawa, Poe ends up crawling into his shell and becoming fascinated by the ephemeral creatures of his fictional writing worlds. Too much, actually... He realizes this after creating a pretty heroine so that, entering his own book, he could actually.. make love to her. No more, no less. A beautiful young lady, in silk sheets, with her hair descending along her shoulders, awaits him every day and night, desires him and nearly worships his genius.

Each time Poe entered the pages with the greed of a sinner, who had forgotten that he himself had created those lips, this fine velvety skin, these sweet sounds of her satiation... However, she's not just a doll, created to satisfy him, Allan made her character rich and detailed so that it would be pleasant to talk with her afterwards; before he says farewell and leaves her be for a while. She wasn't supposed to remember that he came to her anyways.

Edgar perceives that things are really going too far when he starts missing her in reality. A nagging sensation of twisted longing is eating him up from the inside, little by little..

━━━⊱༒︎ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ༒︎⊰━━━

His fingers, already knowing her every curve, unfasten the corset with professional insensitivity. Everything was as usual, the soft sheets, the flickering candles, her parted lips.. However, he suddenly feels her shudder in his arms and watches her look away.

"Aren't you ashamed to be so cruel?.. You're an artist, with a tender soul.." She mutters bitterly. "You come, you take me, we talk and then you leave me again, you abandon me." Her small fingers dig into his shoulders, and Edgar realizes that he never gave her self-awareness and didn't surmise such a scenario. A shiver of horror and dismay runs down his spine.

Meanwhile, the heroine continues:

"How could you endow me with a love of music that I will never be able to listen to, a thirst for travel, being locked within four walls? No- worse, in a room where the bed takes up most of the space?.." Her tone gets desperate, trembling, as she looks up at him, searching for his gaze. Poe avoids it, unable to look her in the eye. Her voice echoes in his heart and he feels so ashamed that it even hurts. "Why would you give me such a purpose of being?.."

Gathering his courage, Edgar manages to respond, now clinging to her without passion: tentatively, with deep regret:

"Dearest... I was selfish. Please forgive me, if you can. No one understands me better than you do."